


The Trick To Sleeping Well

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Daryl mostly, Rickyl, Some attempt at plot, prison time, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: Something had clicked in place in the woods. The Daryl Dixon who left with his brother after Woodbury, wasn’t the same Daryl Dixon who came back. Merle doesn’t really know how to deal with that, and Rick’s only trying to get some sleep. Random attacks from Woodbury keep everyone on their toes, and Daryl just wants to Not Think…The conflict with Woodbury escalates, and things get worse until they get better.(so yeah, this story has a happy ending since I don’t want to write them any other way ;) )Timeline/plot somewhat honored up to episode 3.10/Home, major Canon Divergence from then on.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 21
Kudos: 181





	1. Coming Back

An arrow plunged through the walker’s eye. Rick blinked once, then his reflexes hit a new gear: he pushed the walker off of him, scrambled up, snatched the fallen knife from the ground, and used it to kill the second walker that was coming for him.

His brain was still trying to put the pieces together. The Governor, the influx of walkers, the almost-dying, the arrow…

Someone was running towards him. “Rick! You ok?!!” 

It was Daryl. Of course it was. There was never any doubt, the second Rick had registered the arrow, but still, actually seeing him, hearing his voice… after everything: Lori’s ghost, Glenn and Maggie disappearing, the Woodbury gig, Daryl leaving… Rick stumbled forward, almost collapsing in Daryl’s arms. 

“Fuck! It didn’t…?” Daryl didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone knew how those kind of questions would end.

Rick hugged him. Relief flooded over him, making him giddy. There were walkers not a hundred feet away, the outer gates breached, and Rick couldn’t be bothered to worry. 

On the road back to prison, he had known he... he had realized... that the hunter leaving meant more than just losing one group member. After everything, it had been almost too much. He had wondered, confused, what had been the exact moment when the hotheaded younger Dixon had become his most trusted ally. When had that happened? How had Daryl slithered in and settled in his mind as the person he always looked to? At first, simply as a part of the group, but increasingly it had been as if Daryl had been an upcoming star of a tv show, his name advancing among the screen credits, from the ‘also starring’ to the regular crew, and episode after episode going up, up, until he’s right there, first of the first billed. And Rick hadn’t even realized it, not really, until Daryl wasn’t there anymore.

So, there Rick had been, back at the prison with an angry Glenn and an upset Maggie and an unknown quantity that was Michonne. Not to mention the phantom-Lori and the infant, _oh god, the infant_ , only a few days old, and now he didn’t have Daryl anymore. He wandered around the prison, seeing visions of the short-tempered, lethal hunter holding the baby like she was made of glass, his stolid face melting, slowly, into a dazed little smile. The memory of that smile ached in his heart. This was all wrong.

And now he was back, a godsend, saving Rick’s life. Again.

Rick hugged him, holding him like he couldn’t believe he was back if he didn’t keep touching him. He felt Daryl’s hands cautiously wrapping around him, squeezing away the ache.

“I’m ok. You got it in time.”

“If you two lovebirds have quite finished with pawing each other, I’d suggest we haul ass and get behind the second fence asap.” Merle’s voice, dry and derisive and urgent.

Daryl’s arms twitched but he didn’t snap them off of Rick, like Rick somehow knew he would’ve done, had this taken place even a few short weeks ago.

Sometime later, he would ask what had happened during the time they had been gone. Something had.

Rick stepped back, gripping Daryl’s shoulder briefly. “Thank you,” he said simply. Gushing words had never been necessary with the archer. He nodded to Merle. The man was reloading, so obviously he’d done his share. The walkers were fifty yards away now, and Rick heard the others shouting behind the fence. 

“Ok, let’s go.”

***

The acute need to deal with the walkers had postponed the awkward moment of settling Merle’s fate. Glenn closed himself up, didn’t say a word, just glared at everyone. Maggie held his arm, channeling calm, although Rick honestly couldn’t see where Maggie kept generating it herself. Everyone had been there, though, witnessing how Merle had fought just as intensely as the others, defending the prison, clearing the yard, helping with the quick-fix of the outer fence. Everyone also knew he didn’t **_have_ **to be there; he was there because of Daryl. They couldn’t ignore Hershel’s “don’t underestimate his loyalty to his brother” just because they hated Merle’s guts. He was strong, and a vicious fighter, and he knew the Governor’s abilities. Even though it rattled against everybody’s instincts, they knew they had to solve this by finding a way to let him stay with them. If nothing else, they owed it to Daryl.

Rick looked at their faces. Closed up, resigned, determined, suspicious, neutral. He nodded.

“Fine.” He looked at Daryl. “I want to talk to you. Let’s go outside.”

The two men left; Daryl’s face was a mask of wariness, weariness, and stubbornness. They walked out, all the way to the inner gate, and stood there looking at the newly secured yard.

Rick didn’t hesitate. There was one question in particular he needed to ask.

“Why did you come back?”

“Made a mistake.”

Rick waited. And waited. Then, finally:

“Wasn’t...like I thought it’d be. Merle and me… We’re different now.”

Rick couldn’t help himself.

“No, **you** ’re different now. Merle’s problem is, he’s not. He’s stayed the same.”

“No, he’s changed too. Just… he took a different road.”

This was the first time Daryl turned to look Rick straight in the eyes, no hesitation.

“But that don’t mean he’s not my brother anymore. That don’t mean I don’t want to keep him safe. Maybe you think he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe not, but he is my brother.”

“And if we decide he has to go -- whatcha gonna do in that case?” Rick blurted out, too much challenge in his voice. He regretted the tone of the question as soon as it was out of his mouth, but what’s done is done.

Daryl’s eyes were steady. _Yes, something had happened while he was gone._

“I’m not going anywhere. I know where I oughta be. I know where my place is. Just this: if you make Merle leave, you ain’t what I thought you are. Forcin’ my brother to leave to his death -- you do that, you’re no better than him or the Governor.”

“Daryl, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out exactly the way I wanted to… but maybe it’s good… now we got that out in the open.”

For once, Rick had to evade Daryl’s eyes. He looked down, eyes on the dirt and the sand, trying to find words.

“Merle would have to stay in the cell at least for a while longer. Just long enough for Glenn to cool down. And we would need to see if Merle can behave himself. So really, an awful lot is in his own hands, and I hope you can get that through to him. Merle could be an asset to us, what with his history with the Governor. And he’s a good fighter. And in his own twisted way, he’s loyal to you. Probably loves you, or whatever works for the family feeling for him.”

Rick looked up. The hunter was looking hopeful and suspicious all at the same time. Waiting for the ‘but’ -- hoping it wouldn’t come.

“I owe you more than I can ever repay. There’s probably nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” The words were strong and passionate, but the way Rick said them, they were a statement of a fact, like saying the sun rises from the east. Rick’s quiet dispassionate voice brought a flush on Daryl’s face.

“But I’m not responsible for just myself. I’ve got to take into account the others and their safety and wellbeing. So, I’m inclined to say Merle can stay IF he promises to try to adapt and IF you accept he is your responsibility. Like you said, he’s your brother -- for better, for worse. I have a bad feeling about this but I’m prepared to be proven wrong. I **hope** to be proven wrong.”

He put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, intense and firm. “This ok for you? Good enough?”

Daryl’s face was still flushed -- the shock of hearing Rick’s earlier words not having passed yet -- but his eyes were steady and unflinching.

“Good enough. And if Merle can’t live with the rules, I’ll be the one to kick him out.”

They walked back; Daryl went to talk with his brother, Rick to tell the others how this was going to be from now on. Glenn’s lips were a tight line, but he gave an abrupt little nod, which was more than Rick had even dared to hope.

***

Daryl leaned on the cell bars. Merle was sprawled on the bed, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. Daryl knew different, of course -- whatever Merle was, he wasn’t stupid. He had to know his position was precarious, and Daryl knew Merle knew his little brother wouldn’t follow him this time if he had to leave. And it’s not good to be out there alone. 

“So? What did your darling Officer Friendly and his minions decide?”

Merle tried to provoke him but for some reason that only brought a faint smile on Daryl’s face. He hadn’t much thought of himself as a changed man -- that sounded so pretentious, and anyway, it’s hard to notice such a gradual change in anyone, let alone in himself. But this, being like this with Merle, it made him notice it. That right there could’ve been **_his_** reaction, way back. That prickly, asking-for-trouble, being-your-own-worst-enemy, picking-a-fight attitude -- that was him, not so long ago. 

And that was Merle still. Staying with the Governor had probably only made it worse. Merle was so sure nothing good would ever come his way, he was even lashing out to his brother. Aggravating, mocking, trying to hit were it would hurt the most.

What had he said to Rick? That they had taken different roads.

“You can stay.” 

Merle raised his head, surprised both at the words and the tone of Daryl’s voice, calm and firm. Daryl wasn’t going to participate in Merle’s little games. This shit was serious, and Merle better accept it.

“You need to stay here for a while. You have to show you can get along. You behave, the others will behave. Rick vouches for the others, but you’re my responsibility. Don’t make me regret it.”

Merle just couldn’t help himself. 

“Awwww, aren’t you cute! So ready to bend over backwards to follow Sheriff Rick, like a dog on a leash. Or maybe you’re just bending over, that’s one way to curry favor, right?”

Daryl forced himself to stay calm, tried to suppress color rising on his cheeks. Merle rose on the bed, sat on the edge.

Merle went on, venting his fear and frustration on his little brother. “What’s happened to you? Not that you ever had much backbone but **_this_**? You scurry like a rat back to these weaklings and throw yourself at your pretty little officer -- don’t you have any shame? This what I raised you for?”

Daryl felt like he was punched in the gut. He steadied himself. “You didn’t **_raise_ ** me. You **_left_ **me.” 

At that, Merle had the good grace to avert his beady eyes -- he remembered the episode in the woods. He remembered the scars. 

Daryl went on. “I don’t gotta justify myself to you. And these ‘weaklings’ can take care of themselves just fine. You should know that better than most. And about Rick,” Daryl paused, remembering Rick’s words, his quiet statement, and letting the calm spread all over him, “you can talk smack about him or me as much as you like, I ain’t gonna rise to your ridiculous bait. But if I was you, I’d keep my mouth shut around the others. There are people here who’d shoot you in the face if they heard how you talk about him. And I sure as hell won’t take that bullet for you.”

Merle opened his mouth but Daryl stopped him. “Shut up. You prove you’re worth something to us, and we’ll be worth a lot to you.” Daryl’s voice became infinitesimally kinder. “These are good people. Just… try, ok?”

Merle looked at him, face wooden, jaw moving tightly, like he was rehearsing all the ugly stuff he could say. But he didn’t let any of it come out, only nodded slowly.

Daryl heard footsteps coming closer. 

“Everything settled here?”

Well, this was as good a time as any to test Merle’s resolve. Rick stepped right beside Daryl, shoulder to shoulder, turned his head calmly towards him, looked at him for a while, searching his face for any sign that things had gone to shit here. “You good?” he asked, voice soft and concerned.

“‘m ok. No problem.” And despite everything, being worried about the Merle-situation and all, he knew he’d made the right decision. This was where he belonged, among these people. The thought raised the tiniest smile on his face, and Rick looked surprised, but pleased. Daryl smiling was a rare thing indeed.

Daryl looked back at his brother, and the smile froze on his face. Merle was watching them like a hawk, with a crooked, scornful smile, flicking his eyes back and forth between them, making farfetched assumptions or, at the very least, collecting ammunition for future Daryl-tormenting. For a sickening moment, Daryl saw him and Rick through Merle’s eyes. The hug in the yard. Standing here, now, not an inch between them, talking with soft voices, smiling. Daryl’s stomach lurched, he felt nauseous. Merle’s eyes were glinting malevolently -- Daryl knew his brother, he knew what he was thinking, he must be overjoyed to know he could hit a nerve properly next time, targeting their friendship, twisting it, mocking it, trying to attack his insecurities.

“Oh, he’s ok. So very much ok.” That was Merle’s sneering voice. “I’m good too. Hungry, though. Is the food any good around here?” He laid back on the bed, hands behind his head, grinning widely.

Daryl concentrated on Rick. He was still standing there, warm shoulder tight against his, in full self-command, face neutral, looking at Merle. He didn’t say a word, just looked, like he would look at a mildly interesting cockroach. Merle’s grin stiffened. 

“You’ll be fed, never fear. You eat what we eat. We don’t complain, you don’t complain. Is that clear?” Rick didn’t wait for an answer. He turned his gaze back to Daryl, voice changing from clinical to cordial on the fly. “I think we’re both done here for the moment. Let’s go eat, Carol said the food’s ready. You can bring his share after.”

Daryl didn’t even look at Merle; he just turned and walked away with Rick. Merle can think whatever he wanted, throw insults and insinuations. He heard voices, talking, giggles -- that was his family. He had made the right choice. Fuck Merle and his dirty little mind, trying to twist things into something they were not.

And if some tiny part in Daryl’s heart hurt, just a little, just a second or two -- well. It was just a tiny part. Insignificant. Not really worth delving into.

***

On the third day they let Merle out. Most of the group treated him like he was an unpleasant relative who couldn’t be totally ignored but with whom no-one really wanted to spend any time. Hershel was the exception to this rule, of course. He took the time to talk with him, treat him kindly, like he would any other human being. Daryl saw that Merle was baffled, didn’t quite know what to make of it. Once, out of curiosity, he approached Judy who was lying in her cardboard crib. Carol shimmered in front of him, out of thin air it seemed, silent and menacing like she had started to be lately. Merle took one look at the woman who had been such a meek and helpless creature way back when, and walked away.

They continued to fix the outer fence and the gate; there was no way of knowing when the next hit would come, just that it would. Rick spent time with Merle, Hershel and Daryl, trying to get every single detail about the leader of Woodbury. In a straightforward tactical discussion, Merle was surprisingly decent. Rather fact-oriented, oddly businesslike. It was when he was silent, watching, that Daryl worried. Not that Merle would sell them out, no. Somehow he was certain his brother had left the Governor for good. It was just… Merle liked his little games, and this was a new playing ground for him. And knowing he had lost Daryl to the “other side” had left him all alone. Daryl sensed Merle was only biding his time. Sharpening his claws. And since he hardly dared to mess with the others, Daryl was prepared to bear the brunt of Merle’s mind games. 

The group being what they were only made everything easy for Merle. Once they started to relax around him, they mostly forgot he was there at all. So they talked, and laughed, and touched. Beth brought Judy to Daryl, “Hold her for a second, will ya, I’ll get the formula,” and of course he took her, gladly, tickled her tiny belly and felt a smile spread all over his face. And of course it got worse -- Rick stepped from behind, put a hand on his shoulder, and they both just stood there, contently, watching the small bundle in Daryl’s arms.

Something made Daryl look up, straight at his brother’s eyes on the other side of the room. He was the only one looking at them -- nobody else thought there was anything remarkably special to look at. The group was tight-knit, tactile and, well, a family. Even Michonne was starting to become one of them. _Us_.

Again, it was as if Daryl saw themselves through his brother’s eyes. Him and Rick like that, too close for the “Dixon comfort”, right? Merle’s eyes were calculating, and Daryl knew he’d hear about this. Sly suggestions of “two daddies” coming up -- he’d better brace himself. 

But what could he do? Carol had warned him not to let Merle drag him back down. If he now stepped even an inch away, Merle would win. Why should he act any different in front of Merle than he would without him there? These were his friends. His family. And somehow, he now had the first best friend in his entire life, and wasn’t it ironic that it took the world breaking down for that to happen. 

And Judith… his heart melted just looking at her. There’s no shame in loving a small baby, so screw you Merle for trying to twist this too! 

There’s no shame in loving, period. Even if it hurt, a little, sometimes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Walking Dead and its wonderful cast of characters are not mine. I just play with them for fun :)  
> -A friend of mine did an incredible work as a beta for this story. You know who I'm talking about, honey -- thank you <3


	2. The Things That Keep You Awake

A week passed, then two, then three; still no attack. Instead of growing lax, everyone got more on edge.

Daryl lay wide awake. He didn’t know what time it was but probably 3 am. There was that deadweight feeling in the air. He heard the light snore from Rick’s cell; the quiet whimper of a sleeping Judith from the other side, from Beth’s cell. These familiar sounds should’ve lulled him to sleep but no, he was restless and anxious, his brain obviously having decided this was the perfect time to think about stuff he’d rather not think at all. Ever. As a distraction, he’d think about his brother.

Merle was behaving impeccably -- when there were other people present. In one memorable occasion his dry quip had actually made people chuckle. However, with only Daryl within hearing range, Merle never missed a chance to taunt him. No huge bites, just steady nibbles, trying to get under his skin, trying to make him react. So far, Daryl had managed not to give him the satisfaction.

He’d heard it all. Every group member belittled, Rick’s leadership qualities scorned, their chances of survival dismissed. Carol’s cooking made Merle quite eloquent. The critique on Beth’s singing almost got the better of Daryl’s self-control but still, he managed. Merle laughed at Carl’s hat, Hershel’s leg (as if he had any place laughing about that!), Maggie and Glenn’s relationship. 

And he loved to pick on Daryl. Sly hints about the quality of his relationship with Rick. Of the reason why they were bunking in the adjacent cells. Of the “lovesick looks” Daryl was presumably throwing Rick’s way. He commented on how close they always stood, and how they always sat side by side at the table -- that everyone knew it and no-one ever tried to sit in Rick’s or Daryl’s place. “Who’d dare come between husband and wife, right,” accompanied by Merle’s raucous laughter. 

Or the time when Rick had returned from a supply run limping, blood running down his face, and Daryl had been frightened -- like anyone would, come on!, they cared about each other! -- and walked (well, ok, ran) to him to question, to check, to verify with his own hands that it was nothing too serious. For a moment they had stood there, hands on each other’s shoulders, Daryl’s breath calming down, Rick smiling a small, fond smile because he found his friend’s worry just a bit endearing. Merle had seen it all -- been the only one to watch, because NOBODY else paid any attention to these sort of things anymore. Merle had been particularly articulate about that incident. Daryl “flying to his lover’s arms, awwww, so sweet it’s a wonder I’m not diabetic”; asking whether “Daryleena” gave the hubby a “more thorough” inspection later or if they got their kicks from the public pawing.

Daryl had never understood why sexuality was Merle’s favorite target. Maybe because it was the easiest way to attack a Southerner’s masculinity -- didn’t require much imagination to find the slurs and the snubs. Their father had given them quite the vocabulary on the subject of gays, and Merle sure put it to a lively use. Oh, Daryl heard enough of other stuff as well, stuff to target his dignity, self-esteem, self-confidence; Merle questioned his ability to think for himself, to be a proper man, to be a proper Dixon, to be decisive or ruthless enough. He laughed at how he cared for Judith, tears of scorn flowing from his eyes at the “diaper-changing ninny”.

Only yesterday he had listened to Merle’s latest rant of Daryl being on Rick’s beck and call, “probably in the bed as well as out of it, I bet you obey like a good little bitch when he tells you to get on your knees”. This time though, he had told Merle, quietly, to shut the fuck up. That he was bored with hearing the same old tired nonsense. And then he had asked the one thing that had always bothered him, at the fringes of his conscious thoughts, but had never had the presence of mind to ask it like that, straight up. 

“Why do you do this, Merle? You claim you care about me, you even claim you care about me like no-one else ever will. So, what’s with the taunts and the insults? What’s with tryin’ to make me feel bad about myself every fuckin’ second of every fuckin’ day? That ain’t the way to treat someone you say you care about, even I know that. So what’s up with that? Why do you act like you hate and despise me, if you say you care about me?”

Before, Daryl had sometimes yelled _shut up_ , or _don’t be an ass_ , or once even gone so far as to ask _why_. But that had been years ago, and Daryl had been a different man, hadn’t had a single good thought about himself, so that was hardly a good place to start questioning the negative statements of others. He’d had a vague, muddled feeling this shouldn’t be the way to treat your closest people, but it wasn’t as if he had had other role models in that respect, now was it?

Now was different. His dispassionate voice startled Merle, struck him silent for a moment. He had no rational reason to give, at least nothing that would satisfy the Daryl of today. Something about wanting Daryl to be a man. To train him to defend himself against people who DIDN’T care about him. To train him to be cautious, to not trust people, they’d only take advantage if you so much as blink.

Daryl had watched his big brother spouting these things, and wondered why any of it had ever seemed like a valid point. He thought about Carl, or Judith. About using the same methods to “train” them, and an honest-to-God shudder of nausea passed through him. How would anyone, ever, think that pushing someone down would make them grow tall and confident?

He had said nothing, just turned away and walked back to his friends. Merle was his brother, yes, but his family was elsewhere. For a second he felt sad for Merle; he wasn’t evil by birth, he had his reasons, and in his twisted and perverted way he probably genuinely thought this **_was_ **“caring about” his brother.

Maybe all that was keeping him awake. He turned on his side, looking for a more comfortable, sleep-inducing position.

Nothing doing. Might as well get up.

He padded to the next cell, like he always did, to check Rick was alive and ok. He pushed the curtain aside a little, to make sure, and just as he realized he didn’t hear the soft snore anymore, a voice from the darkness said his name.

This was the first time ever he got caught at his little check-up; luckily it was dark, and the flush on his cheeks couldn’t be noticed.

Rick continued. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah. Thought I’d go to the tombs to check everything’s ok.”

“Want some company?” Rick somehow knew not to ask why Daryl had come to his cell, to check up on him first. Daryl wouldn’t’ve known what to answer, anyway. ‘To make sure you’re still breathing’ would’ve sounded… Daryl didn’t know a word for it. 

“‘k.”

***

They walked silently to avoid disturbing others. They had a dim torch with them, just to make sure they could steer clear of bumping into walls and yet avoid attracting any stray walkers. The cellar hallways were too warm and the air was stale and there had been too many walker incidents to make it seem entirely safe, but for some incomprehensible reason Daryl felt comfortable. It was pitch black in there at all times but the knowledge of people sleeping upstairs, present but not quite, and of this being just the two of them, gave Daryl goosebumps. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that, and he preferred to leave it unanalyzed.

Daryl was deep in thought, busily not analyzing stuff, when a hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. He snapped his head toward Rick; in the faint light he saw him turning his head this way and that, listening, trying to pinpoint the source of his anxiety. Daryl reached towards Rick’s other hand, and slowly took the torch away, covered it with his vest to damp down even the small *snap* of the switch. At the same time, he pushed Rick gently towards the wall; if something was coming their way, it’d be better if they weren’t standing in the middle of the passage.

Rick’s mouth pressed against his ear. “Something clicked, twice. The corridor turning south at the end, I think. In front of us, not behind.” Daryl pricked his ears, strained to hear something. And then he did, small clunks coming from the corridor Rick had mentioned. Metal hitting quietly against something. Not the usual sound of walkers. Something worse, then.

Faint light was moving out there; now they could hear the soft steps of several feet advancing slowly and carefully. Quiet fits of murmur, like muted whispers.

Rick had his sidearm; Daryl had only taken his knife. They had to get out of there and wake the others.

They turned around and started feeling their way back. As luck would have it, they’d taken an easy route to backtrack even in the dark: straight back, left, right, left as far as it would go, then right, through doors, up the stairs, and they’d be home clear. They walked as fast as they dared, silence being the first priority. For a few seconds Daryl didn’t sense Rick’s whereabouts, _shit, am I behind him? in front of him? shit, shit!! did I miss the turn? did he?_ and then he felt fingers touching his, slithering in his palm, Rick’s hand squeeze his, and they slunk together like intertwined ghosts the rest of the way. _Just makes sense, easier to stick together_ , Daryl reasoned, the voice of sensible argument shutting down in a split second when they emerged through the doors, and saw Merle sitting there, smoking. Daryl had just time to notice his eyes widen and a gleeful grin start emerging, when Rick let go of his hand, turned around and closed the doors as softly as he possibly could. Daryl put his finger to his mouth; and maybe it was their furtive movements that convinced Merle it was better to save the delicious taunting for another day. He rose up like a cat, and together the three of them flew up the stairs, closed the doors there, and barred them as best as they could. Rick’s whispered commands sent Merle to their armoury cell, Daryl running towards the gate guard, and Rick to wake up the others.

***

There had been thirty of them, almost triple the number of Rick’s group. The only thing that had saved them had been Daryl’s sleeplessness, and the spur of the moment idea of going to the tombs. Instead of leaving the Governor’s people with the element of surprise, that lucky coincidence had given it to them. The intruders never saw it coming. Daryl, Merle, Rick -- they descended upon them like vengeful angels; Michonne stayed creepily quiet with her katana, slashing through defenceless skin like butter. Carol and Maggie sneaked outside and attacked the few men who the Governor had left to guard the hole in the cellar wall. They made quick work of them, then went after the rear, swift and deadly, tight-lipped and hideously angry.

Hours later, Carol returned, cleaning her knife on a rag. “I think we got them all,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“The Governor ain’t gonna like this. He still has the manpower and the guns, you’d better start making plans. He’s come at you with walkers and with stealth -- my money’s on brute force as his next try.”

Rick heard Merle, believed him too. His head hurt after the sleepless night.

“Yeah, well, he ain’t gonna try anything too soon. The loss of thirty men has to mean something to him. At the very least, he’s got to make new plans. We need rest…”

“No, YOU need rest. You and Daryl. I still don’t know how you came to be there in the middle of the night but I’m guessing you weren’t sleepwalking which means you haven’t been sleeping, and we need you alert and rested. So shoo, off you go, we’ll manage a few hours by ourselves.” That was Maggie, voice strong and decisive, and Rick smiled to himself; Maggie was stepping up, edging towards a new role in the group. 

The two men were left in the cell block -- the others went to clean up the corridors, getting rid of the bodies, collecting the guns and ammo. Beth took Judith outside. 

The men glanced at each other, weariness swarming over them. They walked to their respective cells. Daryl looked at his narrow bed. It should’ve looked tempting but it didn’t. It looked like a place that invited nightmares. That had been a bit too close. Daryl rubbed his eyes. If he hadn’t happened to not sleep… yeah, Merle might still have been in the stairs when the Woodbury people came through, but that wouldn’t have helped. They would’ve got maybe a minute, if that, all waking up and drowsy. Daryl shuddered, thinking about Li’l Asskicker, and Beth, and Carl, seeing them with their throats slit, young lives cut short. 

A bit too close.

In the other cell, Rick sat on the bed. He was too tired to sleep. Too on edge, adrenaline still making its final rounds in his body. No way he’s gonna sleep like this.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here, will ya?”

Daryl pushed the curtain off the doorway and stepped in. His eyes were tired but other than that, he looked just as averse to sleeping as Rick.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong… I just…” Rick’s elbows were resting on his thighs; he put his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his short hair and back, messing it all up. “...don’t think I can sleep.” Rick stared at his hands, didn’t look at Daryl. “Don’t wanna be alone right now, not after that. Can’t help thinkin’...”

“... it was too close?” Daryl finished his sentence. A corner of Rick’s mouth twitched, a tiny show of amusement.

“Yeah. Knew you’d get it.” Now Rick looked up, a bit embarrassed. “Could you...stay here a while? I know we’re supposed to sleep and I shouldn’t keep you up but…” Not just a bit embarrassed. A lot. Asking for this kind of support wasn’t easy for his friend, Daryl knew it, Rick wanted to be seen as the strong one.

But he dared to be weak in front of him. Daryl’s stupid heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, well, what’re friends for.” Stupid voice too, no reason to shake. Daryl sat down on the bed, crept back so his back hit the wall and he could lean on it comfortably and wrap his arms around his bent knees. Rick turned his head to look at him, and followed his lead; crept close to him, a bit abashed by his need for human warmth. Shoulder to shoulder, body heat spreading through their arms and legs.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

They didn’t talk much, and what little they talked, wasn’t about the attack. They talked about Judith, and Carl’s childhood, and Beth’s repertoire of songs, and how Daryl had discovered the wonder that was the crossbow. On occasion they almost chuckled, and both felt the tension subside. Daryl’s eyes were heavy, and Rick’s voice became drowsy, and Daryl just wanted to lie down, just for a second, where’s the harm in it...

***

The warm but definitely amused voice of Glenn woke them up. Daryl couldn’t think straight, he wondered why on earth he was crammed in this tight little nook, and what was tickling his nose anyway.

“Guys, we got food, you wanna come eat now?” Still the amused voice, this time it belonged to Maggie. “Looks like you got your sleep.” The amusement, Daryl realized, even with his brains filled with fluff, wasn’t in any way mocking. Maggie’s voice was understanding and kind, and when Daryl finally got his eyes open, he saw the two of them smile at him from the doorway.

Something moved in front of him, and suddenly Daryl got the full capacity of his brains back.

_Holy crap. Holy crap! Holy crap!!_

His nose was being tickled by Rick’s hair. The reason he was crammed in a tight spot was because he was lying in RICK GRIMES’ BED, between the man himself and the wall. And, oh yes, his arm was on Rick’s waist. Just awesome. Not awkward at all. Not in ANY WAY weird. Because before prison they had often slept like this, with whomever, for warmth. Ain’t that different now. 

_Keep telling yourself that._

Rick’s drowsy voice. “Yeah… we talked… I guess we fell asleep.”

Maggie and Glenn decided the occasion didn’t merit anything more, just repeated the invitation to come eat when they’d get their wits back. 

Only then did it really hit Daryl that theirs was a weird little group. Nobody bat an eye when they caught **_two men_ ** spooning in the same freakin’ bed! Granted, Daryl wasn’t probably the best acquainted with the newfangled, supposedly tolerant, ways of the ex-modern world, but still, he was certain that Before, that would’ve caused at least a few raised eyebrows, anywhere -- and within the Dixon social circles, it would’ve earned howls of laughter, scorn, and most likely a beating.

Yeah, well. This world had dead people come back to eat the living. Maybe Rick and Daryl catching a nap in the same bed wasn’t the most pressing news in these wondrous times. _At least Merle didn’t see this. Small mercies._

Rick wriggled until he was lying on his back, looking at Daryl. 

“Thanks for this.”

“I didn’t have nightmares,” was Daryl’s non-sequitur.

“Me neither.” Rick smiled. “We’d better be going.” Pause. He looked like he didn’t quite know how to say something. “This… it’s not gonna be a problem?”

This was the moment when Daryl realized his arm was STILL wrapped around Rick’s waist.

Awesome. Not a problem At. All.

“Not a problem for me. We just… it’s just sleepin’.” 

Rick kept his eyes on him. Daryl had no idea what he was thinking. It hadn’t been like this on the road, in the woods. There had never been that… pensive look.

Daryl pulled his arm away.

“Ok, get goin’. ‘m hungry.”

Rick cast one last look, grunted, rose up. “Me too.” He turned and extended his hand. “Come on.” Startled, Daryl accepted the help -- not that he needed it but surely it would’ve been rude to decline?

During the few hours of sleep, their clothes had been rumpled, shirts gotten untucked. They both took some time to make themselves presentable, and somehow that was the most difficult part. Daryl strove to conceal it, looking everywhere but at Rick. He heard Rick’s belt open as he loosened it to tuck the shirt back more easily. The buckle sliding, shirt rustling, brought a blush on Daryl’s face. He didn’t know why. It’s not as if they had **_done_** anything to muss up their clothes. People move in their sleep. Clothes get rumpled. Totally natural.

And yet, he felt downcast. For no reason at all.

Rick stood in front of him. Again with the pensive look. Raised his hand and let his fingers run through Daryl’s shortish hair, smoothing it. He smiled, the familiar small fond smile, and Daryl was even more downcast. 

But the fingers kept on running, and something changed.

“You had bedhead.” A light teasing tone.

Daryl didn’t know what got into him. “And now I look good?” he countered, aiming for a similar tone.

_Shitshitshit…_

Rick straightened the collar of Daryl’s worn and faded shirt, taking his sweet time with it. “When wouldn’t you?”

Daryl probably stopped breathing altogether for a second. Then Glenn’s voice reached them. “Come on guys, or there won’t be anything left for you!”

***

Daryl didn’t know what to think. His mind was working furiously when they stepped out of Rick’s cell to the common area. He kept his face carefully neutral, like it’s no biggie; he trusted the others would take it like Glenn and Maggie; that is, not take it any way at all.

How it had happened, he didn’t know, but he had forgotten about his brother. He’d had other stuff on his mind, and he would’ve wanted, the first time ever!, to do some uninterrupted, concentrated **_thinking_** about the last half hour. To try to understand what -- if anything -- had happened. Had there been… flirting? What the hell did flirting even include, and where the fuck was a dictionary when he needed one! 

Or had he just imagined everything? Wishful thinking -- had he finally succumbed to it?

But no; back to the real world. There was Merle, his face giving nothing away, but Daryl knew the slant of his eyes. His brother was shocked. Not mocking, not sneering. Shocked. 

_This could get ugly._ Whatever Merle had been throwing at him, they both had known he hadn’t seriously thought there was anything going on with him and Rick, or that Daryl was anything other than straight as an arrow. For Merle, their close friendship had just been a convenient, everlasting source of ammunition.

If Daryl didn’t know what to make of it all, well, so didn’t his brother. Daryl sighed inwardly.

Rick behaved so completely natural that Daryl just followed his lead. Refused to let anything ruffle his feathers. 

“How long were we out of it?” Rick asked.

“I’d say four hours, maybe more,” Beth said. “I had to sneak in here to get a diaper for Judy. Which one of you snores?” She giggled good-naturedly.

At least three voices claimed in perfect unison: “Rick!”

He huffed. “Do not.”

“Do too.” That was Daryl, determined to act normal, to not let Merle’s stare affect him.

“Some friend you are,” Rick grumbled.

Daryl felt a surge of morbid temptation to push this further, for once to give Merle some actual material for the upcoming torture. “Yeah, a friend who had to sleep with the snore at close range.” Daryl put a finger in his right ear and wiggled it dramatically. “Not sure I can hear with this ear anymore.” 

The group chuckled; Merle’s face was made of stone.

“That’s it, you’re off my Christmas card list.”

“As if I care. You’re still getting me a Christmas present.”

Rick looked around him, mock-pleading. “This man is delusional. Someone please knock some sense into him.”

The banter dissolved into general chatter. Daryl felt giddy. He’d pay for this, the next time he was alone with Merle, but it had so been worth it. He rarely participated in joking around -- just enough so that he knew he hadn’t raised any eyebrows just now -- but he knew that was a side of him Merle had never seen. That sort of gentle, kind, unsneering fun had been nonexistent Before. Add to that the fact that Merle knew he and Rick had slept toget...well, slept in the same bed. Daryl thought of moths to a flame -- that was him. Absolutely suicidal. Asking for trouble. And yet he was grinning inside.

They stayed long at the table, seeking comfort in each other, talking about this and that, important stuff as well as unimportant. It had been a hard day to the others, with the gruesome clean-up job in the cellars. Glenn and Maggie had blocked the cellar wall hole as best they could, but they’d have to think of a more permanent solution at some point. They had also continued fortifying the fences in anticipation of the next attack. Daryl suggested a hunting trip -- they needed more food and supplies, whether it was a hunt in the woods for a deer, or a hunt for supplies in the near villages. Undetected by Woodbury people, preferably.

The others had taken time to shower, and they strongly and quite bluntly suggested Rick and Daryl do the same. And change clothes. And, as Carol was kind enough to remind them over the table, “You guys better change Rick’s bed sheets as well. I mean, what kind of idiots go to bed in full clothing after having gone all Buffy over a few dozen raiders?”

Carol’s tone had been casual but it still had incited a painful twist in Merle’s cheek. And… Daryl flicked his eyes back to Carol, eyeing her suspiciously. He thought he’d seen a mischievous glint in her eyes, but now that she was looking back at him, her eyes were round and innocent.

Rick rose up and nudged Daryl. “Come on, we’d better go before they take us there at gunpoint.”

Merle’s eyes followed the two men all the way out of the cell block.

Carrying the spare clothes and towels, walking in silence, Daryl’s mind was on overdrive once again. Undressing, he felt vaguely self-conscious, but then, he always did. He was full of old, old scars as well as new cuts and gunshot wounds. The sight of his own body brought him no pleasure -- he found it hard to imagine it would be a sight for anyone’s sore eyes. He kept his face turned away from Rick. There had been enough...stuff...already to mess up his mind, he didn’t need anything more. He had to sort out the earlier stuff first.

They washed, they dried, they dressed up, they changed Rick’s sheets. All in silence. Daryl cleaned his guns and knives and checked his crossbow, for tomorrow. By then it was time to go to bed. Again. Daryl was almost looking forward to it, the safety of his own cell where nobody ever came; they knew better than to invade the hunter’s private space. Even Merle had learned that lesson.

He could think in peace.

And he tried, really. However, he dozed off almost the second he lay his head on the pillow, but he slept lightly, and something woke him up much later. A small light was on in the common area but otherwise it was dark, nobody was moving, so what had it been? He gripped the knife he always held close by, and waited.

There.

A whimper. Not Judith.

 _Rick_.

Daryl rose and walked silently to Rick’s cell. Pushed aside the thick curtain and stepped in.

Another whimper. Not a happy one. Horrified. Anxious.

Nightmares. Intimately familiar to them all.

Daryl padded by Rick’s bed, leaned down and gripped his shoulder. Shook him gently. “Rick….Rick… wake up,” he whispered.

The other man started, confused, not seeing much of anything, the small light not really penetrating the thick curtain. “...what..?” he mumbled.

“It’s me. ‘s ok. Just a nightmare. You awake now?”

“...yeah…sorta…”

“I’ll go then?” Daryl hadn’t meant it as a question, it just came out that way.

“...no, don’t…” Rick’s voice was slightly upset, and the hand that grabbed Daryl’s -- it was still gripping Rick’s shoulder -- reflected the underlying worry. “Just… for a little while? If that’s ok?”

What could Daryl say? 

“Sure.” He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Maybe Rick would like to talk about it? He was a talker sometimes. Daryl wasn’t, couldn’t, didn’t really know how you’d do it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a good listener.

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” Rick sounded sad. “Probably nothin’ we all haven’t seen a dozen times. Don’t make it any easier, though.” Rick was silent for a while. “You’d think that what with the walkers, the humans would stick together, but here we are, butchering each other. Sometimes people scare me more than a herd of walkers would. At least the walkers, they just wanna eat, they just follow their most basic instinct. But people, you know, we’re supposed to be smart, and civilized.” They both snorted. _Yeah, right._

“You’re a thinker. Me, I’ve got it easy. I don’t try to analyze it. And I’ve never had a high opinion on people so I’ve got nothin’ to be disappointed about.”

“Don’t try to claim you’re a cynic. You’re not. You believe in people, you just don’t wanna. So you keep telling yourself you don’t.” Rick squeezed his hand, his voice turned a little bit amused. 

“That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.” Daryl tried to keep the situation light, wanted to give Rick something to be amused about. 

His hand moved a little. Not so much gripping Rick’s shoulder anymore than twisting, just a bit, and then they were holding hands. Rick’s thumb brushed his knuckles, back and forth.

They were silent for a long time, didn’t move at all, except for Rick’s thumb. Daryl didn’t want to think because he had no idea **_what_** to think, where to start, or where the baseline of their friendship was anymore. These past 24 hours… was everything in it still just something that was included in a close friendship? How the hell was he even supposed to know, not ever really having had any friends? 

He didn’t **_want_** to think, and he realized he **_couldn’t_** , either. When he tried to think of any...alternative… explanations, his mind hit a blank. Quite literally. It was like he was looking at a scenery all covered in mist -- he knew there were things there, but he couldn’t tell any shapes, let alone colors.

The others weren’t helping; Daryl didn’t find any clues from how they treated the two men. Everyone just accepted everything they did, it seems, as a part of the Rick & Daryl double act. The leader and the wingman. The boss and the protector. The Colt and the Crossbow. 

And before Merle’s addition to their group, Daryl hadn’t questioned any of it, either. Yes, he’d had his own...Daryl’s mind searched for a word which wouldn’t be so heavy with meaning, and which wouldn’t give too definite a form to… okay, so, he’d had his own _whatever_ , but it had been securely closed up in a coffer in his heart, out of sight, and sometimes even out of mind.

But everything with Rick, everything that was actually happening, he’d chalked it all up to being friends. 

The thoughts-he-didn’t-want-to-think-but-which-he-was-intensely-mulling-over were interrupted by Rick taking a firmer hold of his hand, and moving them over to his chest. Daryl noticed his own fingers curling over Rick’s. He felt the steady rise and fall of his chest; the thumping of Rick’s heart resonating under their hands.

He shivered.

“You cold?” Of course Rick had noticed.

“Mm-m. ‘m fine.”

“Are you?” _What a weird question. Two words, and a dozen different ways to interpret Rick’s tone._

“...ummm...what??” _Because, really. What??_

Rick changed the subject. “Were you sleeping?”

“Dozing. On an’ off. Then heard you.”

Rick moved his fingers, threaded them with Daryl’s. The hunter shivered again. The silence was thick and too warm, and Daryl felt a desperate need to run away. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea if this was a situation where something **_should_** be done.

“You sure you’re not cold?” Daryl recognized the undertone. It was Rick being braver than he really was. Daryl was a master of that particular undercurrent.

He swallowed. _Being braver than you really are_ …

“Well, y’know, have a reputation to uphold, can’t go around beggin’ for blankets…”

Rick chuckled. “Oh yes, the heroic hunter. Well, your secret’s safe with me. You tired?”

Rick’s sudden changes of subject would give Daryl a whiplash one of these days.

“I guess. Nah, no guessin’. I’m tired. Just...not so easy to sleep these days.”

“We slept well in the afternoon?” The question mark at the end of the sentence was ever so tiny.

Daryl had trouble breathing. 

“Yeah, we did.”

Silence. Rick’s thumb was moving slower, like all the energy went to him choosing his next words. Or so Daryl thought/hoped/feared.

“Wanna try that method again?” Rick’s voice was a masterpiece of casual.

“Mmm. ‘k.” _And the silver medal goes to Mr Dixon._

Rick moved back on the bed and turned on his side, lightly pulling Daryl by his hand, then letting go. Daryl was glad of the near perfect darkness, it took some of the awkwardness away somehow. He laid himself on the bed, his head on the pillow -- only to notice Rick had left his arm there, and now… 

“Your arm will get numb.” Daryl didn’t recognize his own voice, the strain of aiming for casual screaming through.

“Don’t matter.”

Rick’s other hand pulled the blanket over them, (“Warm now?” - “Yeah”), and then settled lightly on Daryl’s stomach. Their bodies meshed together, Rick’s breath on Daryl’s neck, Daryl’s hand now planted on Rick’s, as if wanting to make sure the leader wouldn’t let go. Warm and soothing and completely safe, and Daryl was supposed to panic, surely, but this felt so good, and he was so tired, and Rick’s breathing had calmed down, and then sleep overcame the hunter as well.

***

Daryl woke up first. Light was already streaming in through the common room windows and seeping through the door curtain. People were waking up; he heard someone -- Carol? -- moving around in a cell nearby. He was still lying on Rick’s arm, their fingers intertwined on his belly. Very gently, he rose up and settled Rick’s hand on the mattress. 

To look or not to look? He swallowed, and turned to look at him. The sight of Rick’s peaceful face, free of worries and the burden of leadership, did funny things to him. Felt weird, not wanting to leave at all, not knowing AT ALL if this meant something. Just a new addition to their friendship? Or --

Again, the foggy scenery with the shapeless, colorless, impossible _blurs_ , which constituted Daryl’s capability of thinking about alternatives.

He took the few steps needed to get back in his own cell. Just in time, too; Beth came out carrying Judith, probably on their way to warm up some formula. Daryl sat on his bed to calm down. Then put on his shoes, straightened his shoulders, and faced the new day.

Well-rested, at least.

***

Daryl wanted to skip the breakfast and escape to the woods. Hunting was always an excellent reason to leave. 

However, one look at his brother’s steely eyes at the common area table made him despise himself for thinking that. _What am I, twelve?_ One juvenile forty-something Dixon in this household was quite enough. Daryl wasn’t going to run from his **_friend_** , for god’s sake, what had he been thinking! Just because he couldn’t make head or tail of his own _whatever_ , and just because he obviously didn’t yet fully understand the concept, borders or rules of friendship, didn’t mean he’d let his **_best friend_ ** wake up after a night like that, just to find Daryl gone god knows where. He knew how **_he_** ’d feel about that. No reason to assume Rick would feel any different.

Merle kept watching him, but as there was always someone else present, he didn’t say anything, and finally Glenn came to ask him to go with Michonne and him for a supply run. Carol and Hershel sat with Daryl, all of them at their second cup of coffee, when Rick finally emerged from his cell.

“There’s still some coffee, help yourself,” Carol said, nodding towards the coffee pot.

Hershel followed Rick with his eyes. “You look better. Had a good night?”

Daryl so didn’t want to **_see_** what Rick answered but couldn’t help himself.

Rick was pouring coffee into his large mug, with a faint smile on his face, and just a tiny bit flushed. Daryl had to put his mug down, his hand was suddenly shaking.

“Didn’t start out so great but then it got much better. I slept like a log.”

Carol, the witch, seemed to sense something was going on, but before that got any further, Rick started to talk about the day’s chores, walking to the table and settling in his usual place by Daryl’s side. Oddly enough, it felt like a return to normalcy, Daryl’s hand stopped shaking, and before he knew what was happening, he was participating in the discussion.

***

Glenn, Michonne and Merle came back late in the evening, with some new ammo and lots of formula -- weird mix but hey, both were much needed commodities. At the dinner table Rick said that come what may, they’d take another day of rest to gather their strength, to sleep another night, and then, the day after tomorrow they’d sit down and make plans. This shit with Woodbury had to come to an end, they couldn’t just sit tight and keep waiting for the next attack, and the next one, until there would come the attack they couldn’t win.

Merle kept glancing at Daryl but he had decided to steer well clear of his brother. He’d follow Rick’s command in that respect as well: he’d take another day to rest before Merle’s next attack.

Judith fell asleep in Rick’s arms, and Beth came to fetch her. “We’ll go now, good night, y’all.” One by one, everyone left; Daryl took care to sneak away when there were still other people between him and Merle. He tried to chastise himself for being a wimp, but couldn’t muster much energy for it. It wasn’t being a coward, it was just avoiding a futile argument which would go nowhere, solve nothing, and only bring bad feelings all around. Why subject yourself to something like that if it wasn’t absolutely necessary?

He took his boots off and curled on the duvet. He listened to the others, their movements, them going to their cells. He heard low talking, someone giggling lightly, boots dropping on the floor. Familiar sounds.

He should undress a little. Get properly in bed. Try to sleep. But he was restless, couldn’t close his eyes, just stared at the ceiling. He noticed the main lights go out, heard everyone grow silent, caught Judith’s little sleep-whimper. There was something he didn’t hear, though. Rick wasn’t snoring. And since that was what he did when he slept -- Daryl’s mouth twitched in a small smile, memories of the earlier banter coming back -- it meant the other man wasn’t sleeping. Either.

Daryl was restless, fingers tapping nervously against his arms. He chewed on his lower lip, trying to not think of the obvious. If it was obvious? Shit! Was this stuff **_supposed_** to be this difficult? Like orienteering with a faulty compass and no goddamn map! How did people **_do_** this, how could anyone understand when you were supposed to do something or not? How did people get when the situation even required a **_decision_** on that??

 _Fuck this._ Daryl threw his feet over the edge of the bed, stood up, and walked out and stepped behind Rick’s door curtain, decisively NOT THINKING. That was as far as he got, though. He stood there, not knowing whether to slink back or push the curtain aside. A friend wouldn’t think twice, he’d just go in there and ask, normal as anything, if the other guy needed company, wanted to talk, just to be able to sleep better. Right? So what’s the fucking problem here?

And yet, Daryl’s hand wouldn’t move to touch the curtain.

A quiet voice came from the cell. “You coming in or what?”

 _Oh. Shit. Point of no return._ Daryl stepped in. “Figured you weren’t sleepin’ either.” He sat on the bed. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

_Hah, that’s funny. You, mostly!_

“When this is over and we’ve won, we gotta start findin’ more people to join us. There’s just too few of us. We’re tough as fuck but there’s less than ten adults here; Beth’s with Judith, and Carl… he’s good but still, he’s what, 13? 14?”

“I’m surprised. You’re not usually eager to get to know new people.”

“I still ain’t. Just bein’ pragmatic.”

Rick chuckled, a low purring sound.

“I like that. Daryl Dixon, the voice of reason.”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to give a quiet, whispery laughter.

“Don’t tell anyone, I’ve still got my reputation to uphold.”

“Would you and your reputation care to sleep?”

Daryl had, perhaps, been expecting this question to come up, one way or another, and STILL it surprised him, brought a warm sensation on his cheeks. Only belatedly he registered the forced casualness in Rick’s tone. It reminded him that maybe, just maybe, Rick had trouble locating the baseline of their friendship as well? Maybe he was nervous, too?

And, god, was that even an invitation? Maybe Rick just meant to ask if he would like to sleep now, in general? Fuck, this was getting ridiculous… it’s not like he had to wait around twirling his fingers like a fucking damsel in distress for Rick to make every move.

“Like last night?”

“Yeah, like last night.”

“‘k, why not.”

Rick pushed himself forward. “Get in there, your turn to get squished.”

“Well, since you’re askin’ so nicely…” Daryl climbed over Rick, wriggled under the blanket, and settled on his side. He thought for a second. “Raise your head.” Rick obeyed; Daryl slipped his arm under him. Rick laid his head on the crook of Daryl’s arm, hair tickling his bicep.

“It’ll get numb.”

“Don’t matter.”

They talked intermittently for a while about nothing in particular, voices growing drowsier by the minute. Daryl was falling asleep when he felt Rick reach back, grip his hand, and bring it to his chest, holding it there in his hand, warm and firm.

“This ok?”

“Yeah.”

***

Six well-slept hours later, Daryl woke up, as if his inner clock wanted to help him. It was light outside, and he could hear the murmur of voices in some cell -- Maggie and Glenn, probably -- and it was time to go. They hadn’t moved much during the night; Daryl slid his arm slowly from under Rick’s head, and did the same with his other hand, then crawled carefully over the sleeping man, and really, really hated that he had to leave.

He missed Carol by half a second. _That was close._ He changed his clothes, waited a few minutes, and emerged from his cell.

“It’s astonishing how you always manage to wake up **_just_** when the coffee is ready.” 

“Everybody’s got a superpower.”

Carol chuckled, and handed him a mug filled with fresh coffee. “What’re your plans for today?”

“My bike’s makin’ funny noises, ‘m thinkin’ I’ll work on that. You?”

Carol grimaced. “Loads of laundry.”

Then Glenn and Maggie plodded towards them, yawning. Carol smirked. “Nights are for **_sleeping_** , you know?”

“Ha-bloody-ha,” mumbled Maggie and poured herself coffee. They chatted about the day, Glenn said he’d like to help Daryl fix his bike as he’d like to learn the mechanics. They were in a middle of a discussion when Daryl noticed, from the corner of his eye, Rick walking towards them. He was talking with Glenn but the part of his brain that always reacted to Rick’s presence was working on its own. Grabbing a mug, filling it with coffee, and handing it to Rick without even looking at him. Rick’s warm fingers brushed against his when he took it from his hand, making Daryl finally glance at him. 

“Thanks,” Rick smiled, and continued, all laid-back and cool, “sleep well?”

Daryl’s lips quirked in a tiny smile -- blink and you missed it.

“Sure did.”

Turning his eyes back to Glenn, he saw Carol frown, looking at the two of them, tilting her head as if listening to an echo of another level of conversation. Daryl continued his discussion with Glenn, hoping Carol would just forget about it.

Merle cornered him only once, and only briefly. He hissed a string of furious slurs about handholding and night-time dates and day-time fucks, and would’ve gone on in the similar vein for god knows how long but Hershel limped towards them, calling Daryl, so he just threw a disgusted glare at Merle and walked away.

 _All in all, not so bad._ Nothing he hadn’t expected, either.

Surprisingly, Hershel touched on the subject of Merle. “He giving you a hard time?”

“That ain’t nothin’ new. It don’t bother me much anymore.”

“I’ve noticed. You’ve changed. Become more...focused, somehow.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I finally got my priorities straight.”

“Maybe you did.” Hershel watched him carefully. “You look happier, too. Been sleeping well?”

Daryl concentrated very hard on not blushing. “Yeah, had a couple of better nights lately.”

“Sleeping well seems to do wonders for you, then.” He paused. “Rick’s slept better lately as well. Funny coincidence, that.” Daryl sneaked a look at him; Hershel’s eyes were searching, but so very kind. Change of subject was in order, like, right fucking now!

“Mmhmm. So, why were you lookin’ for me?”

Hershel smiled and nodded, like he had noticed Daryl’s non-reaction and accepted it.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know: the Woodbury I’m describing here is probably much more populous than the canon-Woodbury. Somewhere I found a figure of 75 -- the version I’m imagining here is about double the size.


	3. Things, They Are A-Changin'

When they had had their dinner and were just lounging about, Rick told them all to have a good night’s rest because they’d all need their wits about them tomorrow. They’d need a plan, and a freakin’ good one at that. They were outnumbered at least 4 to 1, outgunned as well, so all good ideas were welcome. 

“I have no problem accepting a suggestion from any of you, I don’t pretend having all the answers. And ten heads are better than one, anyway. This shit, we’re all in this together. Now, get some rest, okay.”

People started moving about, getting ready for bed, washing their teeth, helping Beth with Judith’s evening diaper change -- not that she needed the help, it was just nice to watch the tiny person flailing her limbs and bare toes. Daryl noticed Rick sliding his gaze over his little flock, looking out for every one of them with the best of his ability.

If Rick’s eyes stayed a second too long on Daryl’s, what was it to anyone?

***

Again Daryl waited and wondered, listening to the silent cell block. _Come on Dixon, grow some balls, will ya? If nothing else, he’s your friend, that ain’t gonna break, not anymore, not after everything, and sure as hell not for a...misunderstanding, if that is what this is._

He had been sitting on his bed, biting the side of his thumb, tapping his foot quietly on the floor. He stood up straight, breathed out, took his boots off, wriggled out of his vest and shirt, figuring that if he wasn’t returning back to his cell, to sleep alone, the t-shirt would be quite enough. 

Daryl slipped out of his cell, moved the few steps to get in front of the familiar thick curtain, and ridiculously felt like he should knock.

No need; the curtain was pushed off, Rick was standing there, smiling crookedly, jerking ‘come in’ with his head.

“Didn’t know if you’d come.”

“I like my sleep,” Daryl grunted the most innocent explanation.

Rick glanced at him, registered his clothes or lack thereof -- and suddenly Daryl was self-conscious; he cursed to himself; was it perhaps...presumptuous, or, or, inappropriate or something, to come like this, so obviously all set for spending the night in the same bed, so clearly _underdressed_ for just a chat?

But Rick just gave a small nod, and took off his own flannel. “Might as well. It’s hot in there.” He nodded at the bed.

Rick climbed in, leaving room for Daryl. He didn’t say anything, just lay himself down there, his head on Rick’s arm. He sensed Rick’s hesitation, it was as if this time Rick wanted Daryl to make most of the initiatives. So he complied; he reached back to take Rick’s other hand and guided it on his midriff, fingers grazing his lower ribs. Rick settled there, inched just a bit closer, and in that split second Daryl realized this wasn’t at all the same as the previous times. 

For one, there was a hell of a lot more **_skin_**. Sure, Daryl went bare-armed as long as the weather allowed and then some, but Rick didn’t. And their threadbare t-shirts weren’t exactly the same as their normal outfits of two to three layers of shirts and vests and flannels. Daryl felt the heat emanating from Rick like there was nothing at all between them, and cursed to himself anew. _Well, at least I’m not the big spoon this time, or we’d be in for a real awkward situation,_ a dry voice said in Daryl’s head. His jeans were already just a teeny bit uncomfortable. The dry voice saw fit to continue commenting on that. _I guess it’d be safe to say I’ve left the friendzone as of now._

 _No shit,_ countered Daryl to his inner voice. _Smartass_.

“Are you ok with this?” Rick’s whisper, serious this time, a tone without the slightest hint of flirting or innuendo or playfulness of any kind. He’d sensed Daryl’s shock, he’d noticed how his body tensed up.

Daryl stayed silent for a long time, debating with himself on the answer. Should he again try to be braver than he really was? Because this was **_hard_** , and Daryl couldn’t believe it was **_supposed_** to be this hard, this sort of thing, not knowing AT ALL where they were on the relationship map, or if they were even on the SAME MAP. If Daryl really trusted in their friendship, though, he’d dare cut through all this guessing shit, all this trying-to-read-minds crap...

He wiggled a bit, until he lay on his back, his head still on Rick’s arm, their hands on top of each other on Daryl’s midriff. It was dark but not pitch dark, and what little he could see of Rick’s face in the tiny light filtering through the curtain, he wanted to see it as clearly as possible.

He didn’t feel brave at all, he felt bare and exposed and, oh, if only he had something to hide behind, even a little, something to shield himself from the scorching openness of Rick’s eyes, because Rick had raised himself a bit, leaning lightly on the elbow on which Daryl’s head lay. Rick was gazing at him, worried and caring. Oh FUCK, why was his fuckin’ hair so short? If it wasn’t, he could have a veil of his very own, and YES he wanted to see Rick, he just hadn’t realized it meant Rick could see him too…

“You ok with this?” Rick repeated his question, the whisper faltering ever so slightly, and Daryl understood he didn’t have time to wait anymore, he had to answer.

“I...guess it depends...on what ‘ _this’_ is?”

Rick kept looking at him. Tilted his head.

“What would you want it to be?”

 _You had to ask, didn’t you? The worst question ever in the history of bad questions._ Daryl couldn’t think of any way to wriggle out of that one.

His heart was pumping like crazy. No way Rick didn’t feel it vibrating in his ribs, his hand settled there, warm and still, under Daryl’s fingers.

So he started to move his fingers. Slowly brushing Rick’s hand, feeling the rough skin of his knuckles, the soft skin between thumb and forefinger, the smooth plains of his fingernails, the bones of his wrist. Daryl didn’t think he’d ever touched anyone quite so gently, like he’d want to memorize every part of where his fingers reached. ‘cause, you know, this might be the only time, this was taking a risk, but…

Rick’s hand moved. Daryl sensed the other man was holding his breath. Rick’s hand moved cautiously, hesitating, as if waiting for Daryl to stop it. _What if Rick thinks_ **_he’_** _s the one misunderstanding?_

The hand traveled up, fingers drawing the lines of Daryl’s ribs, sliding over his chest. Daryl dropped his own hand away, his whole being waiting, aching to find out where this was going. Rick’s breath was uneven and his eyes didn’t move at all, they were glued on Daryl’s, looking for the slightest hint that he should back off. His hand had reached Daryl’s collar bone, run over it, long fingers coasting his neck, reaching his jaw, brushing his short beard, scratching the stubble on his cheek. The hand stopped there, cupping his cheek. Daryl licked his lips, nervous and excited. Rick’s thumb touched his mouth, slid over the slick lower lip, and now it was Daryl who couldn’t breathe.

Rick leaned down, his face now only inches away, his lips so nerve-wreckingly close.

“‘cause **_I_** ’d be ok with something like this… this is how **_I_** ’d want it to be…. so it’d be a real good time for **_you_ **to say something, ok?”

Daryl was lying down and yet he was dizzy. _Just go with it._

“Ain’t that good with words,” he said, and raised his head to reach over the infinite inches, and then, finally, he felt Rick’s lips on his.

The other man let out a tiny, soft little moan, pressed his mouth more firmly on Daryl’s, and then they were lying together, Rick’s hand threading through Daryl’s hair, caressing like he couldn’t believe his luck -- that he was allowed to do this. Daryl gripped Rick’s shoulder and wriggled his other hand -- stuck under the other man -- so that he could wrap it around him.

 _Funny thing, this kissing-business_ , Daryl thought vaguely, thoughts bumping around in his head, unruly and giddy. _It’s warm and comfy and familiar, like we’d been doing this for ages, and at the same time I’m shivering and bursting out of my fucking skin and I can’t believe I’m kissing_ **_Rick-freakin’-Grimes!!_**

They stopped to catch their breath; Rick rested his head on Daryl’s forehead, and glided his finger over the hunter’s wet lips, now slightly fuller than earlier.

“You’re a good kisser,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I’ll take your word for it,” Daryl mumbled, still dazed from all the skin contact, from the weight of **_Rick-freakin’-Grimes!!_ ** on him.

“Oh, I’m hardly the first one to give you that compliment,” Rick chuckled in a low voice, the tremors of his body doing funny stuff on Daryl’s nerve endings. Made him quite distracted.

“You better believe it. Can hardly get compliments for things I ain’t done before,” he said, realizing only then what he had admitted. _Ain’t that just awesome, Rick’s got a real-life “40-year-old-virgin” on his hands, how embarrassing can ya get…_

Chuckles choked in Rick’s throat. He raised his head to look at Daryl. “Say what?”

Daryl was mortified. No other word for it. Of all the things to blurt out… he could’ve faked a **_little_ ** experience, tried not to appear so **_very_ **clumsy, maybe, but this… for a man of few words, he sure knew how to pick them.

“You mean… you don’t mean… no kissing? Ever?”

“No nothin’, ever, more like.” Daryl didn’t know where to look. He’d got enough teasing and mocking from Merle and his friends on this subject to last him a lifetime. Not that he’d expect Rick to mock him but still. Had to be a little funny, right?

“Oh, okay… So… that means you’re just a natural born kisser. Olympic-level. People don’t know what they are missing.” Rick’s tone was light but there was no teasing, not even a little. Just a warm voice, and then lips brushing lightly over Daryl’s mouth. “Wanna kiss some more? I kinda liked it.”

***

At some point they fell asleep. You’d think not, what with all the kissing and tingly skins and uncomfortably tight jeans. But they were drowsy and content and they kept touching each other with warm lips and gentle hands -- all quite chaste, actually, and Daryl didn’t know if that was somehow for his benefit, or if Rick wanted to keep it that way regardless, but it didn’t matter. This was enough for now -- and it just felt so good to close your eyes while letting your hand rest on the other’s ribs, feeling the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

Again, Daryl’s inner clock woke him up just when the others were starting to stir. Fuck, he so didn’t want to leave! But it couldn’t be helped, so he detached himself from under Rick’s arm and sat on the bed, flung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Rick’s hand touched his back. 

“Stay. Please?”

A shiver ran through him. He turned to look at the other man.

“They’re waking up.”

Rick took his hand away, averted his eyes. Then he obviously pulled himself together, looked back at him, tried to smile a little.

“That a problem for you?”

“It ain’t for you?”

“Not so much, no.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. The foggy scenery had been absent for a time but now, he wasn’t quite sure what lay ahead. What were the **_alternatives_**.

He had to find out, somehow.

“You don’t mind if they see us, you know, coming out together?”

Rick sniggered. _Ok, so it might’ve been a poor choice of words._

“Oh, ha-fuckin’-ha.” But Daryl was amused too, of course. And the unintended joke eased the mood. “You know what I mean… They see us, that’s it then.” Daryl was serious again.

“I know how I want this to be. So I wouldn’t mind.”

“Ain’t this just a bit fast? Weren’t you still straight, like, yesterday?”

“Well, no, actually.”

“What??? ‘m sure you were married at some point, to a **_woman_** , so again: what?”

“I’ve been bi my whole life. Always been with just women -- well, _A_ woman -- but that doesn’t change the fact.”

“Oh…”

Rick’s hand returned on his back, rubbing it up and down, warming him up through the thin t-shirt which wasn’t tucked in anymore so Rick’s palm touched his skin every now and then.

“So, it’s really up to you, Daryl, how you wanna play this out. If you want to… If you want it to be a secret, or… or just this one time, then, yeah, you should go, and it’s ok, I get it. Or if you want to… to see where this might go, we can talk later, decide then. Take your time.”

Rick’s voice was kind, understanding even. It warmed Daryl’s heart, to know Rick tried not to push him.

What **_did_** he want this to be?

Fuck it, he knew **_exactly_** what he wanted it to be. But it had been a dream back then, for so long just a fantasy with zero chance of ever coming true. Pushed at the back of his mind, crammed in the coffer in his heart. Now… he might have what he wanted -- was he brave enough to take it?

“Dixons aren’t pussies and cowards!” Merle’s gruff snarl came to him, and for once, his words actually helped. _Merle wouldn’t enjoy the irony, that’s for sure._

But he had to get something out first.

“Rick… I ain’t exactly done anythin’ like this before.”

“So I gathered.”

“No, don’t mean that... well, that too, but… I mean, you know, the dating thing. Relationship stuff. Don’t know if I can do it right.”

Rick scoffed. “No-one does until they do it. The thing with relationships is, you’re not **_alone_ **in it, trying to figure things out by yourself. And, you know, my relationship with Lori wasn’t a shining example of marital bliss, we had problems long before the walkers happened. Or Shane. So having had relationships doesn’t necessarily qualify you for future success. We just have to decide if this is what we want, and then solve stuff as they come.”

Daryl smiled. Trust Rick to put it in simple terms. He stood up, held out his hand. “So, you comin’?”

***

Everybody was already at the table, chattering, drinking coffee, eating bread. 

Everybody. Merle included. When Rick pushed the curtain aside, and the two men walked out of the cell, the room went quiet. Not a sound -- even Judith was silent. Heads were turned, coffee mugs left half-way.

And it lasted exactly half a second. Then Maggie started talking to Glenn, Carol turned to Hershel to continue their discussion, Michonne held out her hands to Beth to pick up Judith from her.

Rick never stopped walking, never showed that anything was at all different or special. His “mornin’” was replied in kind, and Beth scooted over just a bit to make room for the two of them when they came with their mugs. Carl handed a plate of bread their way and gave a quick smile to Daryl.

Daryl had probably never loved his group this much. If he hadn’t been sure before that coming back was the right choice, this right here would’ve proved it to him once and for all. 

Merle, of course, had been silent the whole time, glaring daggers at Rick and swords at Daryl. _Can’t win them all_ , Daryl thought, and waged a real battle against exuberance. They would be making war plans today, this was no time for hearts-and-flowers.

After his first cup of coffee, Rick stood up, businesslike and commanding. “Ok, guys, we can’t put this off any longer. Let’s clear out the table and begin. Do we have any paper, Carol? We could try making some sort of a map. Merle, didn’t you do a list of Governor’s people? Would you go get it? And anyone, if you have ideas, now’s the time to tell them. The more devious the better. We ain’t got the manpower for a frontal assault, and I’d rather not lose any of you over this.”

***

Three hours later they stopped for a brief break. They only kept one hour shifts at the gate so that everyone would have a chance to participate as much as possible. After two more hours they had a plan of sorts. Surprisingly enough, it was mostly Carol and Merle who came up with it, both having a certain kind of talent for thinking real dirty tactics. Rick wanted to have another break, and just then it was Daryl’s turn for the gate watch. He took his crossbow and rifle, strolled towards the gate, relieving Michonne. He had just started climbing up the ladder, when he heard someone shout his name. 

_Ok then. I guess now’s as good a time as any_ , and turned towards his brother.

“Let me get this straight,” his brother began, then grimaced, “ok, let me rephrase that particular sentence: let me see if I’ve got this right: you and Officer Wondercock aren’t just holdin’ hands and sneakin’ around suckin’ each other’s dicks -- you’re, what?, SLEEPIN’ TOGETHER?? What next? Marriage vows? Should I walk you up the altar, Daryleena? You’d look real cute in a white dress and veil! Oooooh, but you’d not qualify for a white dress anymore, so sad… Would you be Mrs Grimes then? ‘cause I bet you’d be the little wifey, spendin’ half your time on your hands and knees; how you’re gonna get any fightin’ done I don’t know, your ass’s probably too sore for walkin’ properly…”

And so on and so forth. 

Daryl just stood there, letting the words swarm past him, not really even listening. He didn’t have to, he’d heard it all before in various forms, targeted at himself or some other guy who’d made the unfortunate mistake of attracting Merle’s unwanted attention. The longer he stayed quiet, the more Merle spat the words out of his mouth, getting more spiteful by the second, saying things he’d probably not planned on saying -- he did, in his own weird way, sorta like his brother anyway -- but not getting any kind of reaction from the younger Dixon made him too furious.

Daryl just stood there, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t upset, or ashamed. To his surprise, the only emotion he had was silent anger. Something cold and hard settled in his belly. _This would have to stop. Right now._ He concentrated on listening to Merle for a minute, heard his ridiculous rant, and suddenly it all seemed so, so silly, so childish, and he wondered how he’d ever let Merle’s taunts hurt him. His anger melted away.

“You know you’re weird, right? When you claimed I was suckin’ Rick’s dick, you couldn’t get the slurs out fast enough but you were laughin’ your ass off. Now we’re spendin’ the nights together, **_sleepin’_** like logs, and THIS is what finally rattles your cage and gets you all huffin’ and puffin’ and ravin’ mad? Decide, man, which is worse: suckin’ or sleepin’?”

It wasn’t Daryl’s words that made Merle speechless. It was his voice. Not angry, not challenging, not guilty or embarrassed. Instead, Daryl was highly amused, really not caring one way or the other about his big brother’s opinion on how he chose to live his life -- and Merle saw it, heard it clearly, and didn’t know how to deal with that. How to punch a man he couldn’t touch?

Without another word, Daryl turned away and climbed up the ladder, and started his hour of watch. The silence on the ground was deafening and lasted for a long time -- then he heard Merle tramp back in.

  
  



	4. Of Kisses And Confessions

“We can’t expect any help from the civilians,” Hershel had said. “We killed thirty of their fighters -- husbands, sons, brothers, fathers. Doesn’t matter **_they_ ** attacked **_us_ **\-- we did the killing.”

“The way I see it, maybe we only need to bring down the Governor,” Carol had mused. “They’d be without a leader, and maybe not so eager to come at us anymore. What do you think?” And she had turned towards Merle and Michonne.

Merle had chewed on his lip while Michonne had said, “The Governor is a liar and fraud, but a skilled one, like a charismatic dictator. There are a few others who might be willing to grab power after him but they’re not half as good talkers.”

“We bring him down, the whole shit collapses, that’s my opinion. Martinez might try somethin’, but the guy’s a born wingman, not a leader. Milton has the brains but not the personality.” Merle had chuckled. “The only one of that lot who actually might have a chance of followin’ in Governor’s footsteps is your darlin’ Andrea. I trust she wouldn’t wanna continue tryin’ to kill ya?”

“We’ve penetrated Woodbury defences twice already. Getting Maggie and Glenn out, then Daryl and Merle. What’re the chances we could do it a third time and live to tell about it?” That had been Rick, thinking out loud, tapping his chin with his thumbnail.

“There’s basically only two options here. Either sneak into Woodbury, kill the Governor, and sneak out. Or create a diversion tempting yet non-threatening enough to get him to leave the town. You said he likes to do his own ransacking,” Maggie had said, turning to Merle.

“But is he still doing it? They have to know we’re planning something. Maybe they’re expecting something exactly like this, so the diversion would have to be something really unique, and we don’t have anything like that. No choppers to drop down....” Glenn had frowned, thinking.

Daryl had been quiet. He thought -- no, he KNEW -- he could get in, undetected, but sneaking in is only one small part of the job. There’s moving around, there’s finding the target -- who’s to say he was living in the same house, or be there at the time at all -- then there’s the kill itself, real quiet-like, and then you’d still have to get out of there alive.

The situation now being what it was, with Rick, Daryl for the first time ever felt an absolute refusal to die. It had been creeping on for some time now. Not that he ever had **_wanted_ ** to die, if there was an option! It’s just that Before, life had just been about existing. There was nothing much **_there_** , just Merle, some guys they used to hang out with, and dad. Odd jobs here and there, hunting, trying to be alone as much as possible because quite frankly, Merle and the guys hadn’t been that uplifting to be around. Not good for your self-esteem. Daryl almost snorted -- he was starting to sound like Carol or Hershel. 

But then the world cracked, and suddenly he had a family. Started off as just a group, loosely attached together for survival, and then it became a family, tightly knit for love. A **_family_** : the kind people usually mean when they say the word. Not like what he was used to, you know, with Merle and dad. And then Rick happened, first becoming his friend, and then more, and fucking FINALLY Daryl had all the reasons to live, really **_live_** , not just exist.

Sure, Daryl wouldn’t hesitate even a fraction of a second if it came to giving his life so that his family could live. No contest there. He’d much rather go on living **_with_ ** them, though. But that meant ALL of them. Rick, Beth, Glenn, Li’l Asskicker... even Merle. There was no such concept as ‘acceptable loss’ when it came to Daryl’s family.

He would like to find a way to solve this by risking only his own life, keeping the others out of it. However, he’d prefer to have some sort of an escape route planned.

“Would they expect just one person?” he had asked. Rick had turned his head to him so fast it must’ve made his head spin.

“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Sure I am. Just makes sense. Easier to slip in, easier to move around. And no offense, but I’m the only one in this group who can do it without wakin’ up the whole town.”

Rick had watched him, careful but calculating. _He’s no fool_ , Daryl had thought, _he knows the merits of my idea. He might not like it but he knows he’d have to at least consider it._

Carol, bless her, had voiced Daryl’s thoughts. “He can get in, of course he can, but can we be sure that all the stuff he’s gotta do in there won’t attract some attention? We have to make sure, and I mean ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY sure he gets out as well. The way I see it, he’s got people to come home to, right, Rick?” In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Carol had still found the energy to smile and wink at Rick.

Rick hadn’t looked happy but he had gone along with it.

“Ok then. Assuming Daryl gets in and does his Silent Assassin thing, how do we get him out.”

Merle had cleared his throat. “Well, why don’t we get the best of both worlds? Sneak and distract?”

Rick’s patience had been wearing thin. “Well, **_obviously_**. Care to suggest the diversion? Good enough to give Daryl an opening, not tempting enough to lure the Governor out at the wrong time just in case the timing doesn’t work? Or will we ask Daryl to send smoke signals when it’s done?” 

The last sentence had been delivered with heavy irony, but Carol had seized the idea.

“Not bad, actually. Should be fairly easy to set something on fire. Daryl gives the signal, we do our thing, and whaddya know, we’ve got ourselves TWO diversions.”

Merle’s eyes had glinted mischievously. “I like the way this one thinks.”

“And I’d like to have a plan B ready as well, okay. When we’ve thought about what the outside diversion is, we go through every single fuckin’ step of the plan, think of every fuckin’ thing that could possibly go wrong and preferably those that couldn’t, as well. And we think what we’ll do in each case.” Rick had breathed in and out, calmed himself down.

“None of you are expendable, so let’s try to do this right, ok?”

***

That had happened almost three hours ago, and Carol and Merle had somehow bonded over this problem, really sank their teeth into it. Daryl had no doubt that after everything was over and done with, they’d dislike each other just as much as before, but right this moment their brains had fused over the common aim of getting rid of the Woodbury problem while keeping someone close to them alive.

Merle barely looked at him when he came back from his watch, relieved by Maggie. He mentally shrug his shoulders. He was done fighting with his brother; he was done cowering under his insults. It was high time ONE of the Dixon boys grew up a bit.

They set the table with some food. Everybody was hungry already, and they ate; Carol and Merle poring over their self-made map, Beth humming and rocking Judith in her arms. 

Daryl stood leaning against the wall, munching on a piece of meat, watching the group. _You never know, something might go wrong, and these might be the last days I got, looking at my family_. He didn’t feel this was a morbid thought. It was just a fact, y’know. He wasn’t setting up for fail, he just understood it was a possibility. _I’ll do my best to come back, that’s for sure_ , he thought, noticing Rick stroll towards him.

Rick stopped in front of him. Didn’t say a word, just **_looked_**. Daryl shifted, feeling uncomfortable.

“You mad at me?”

Rick grabbed his arm. “Come outside.” Half-plea, half-command.

They went outside and kept walking until they were at the inner gate, staring at the woods, seeing Maggie walk back and forth in the watchtower.

“Ain’t mad.” Rick said quietly. “You’re right, it makes sense. Don’t mean I’m glad either. You’ll be taking all of the risk, and you’ll be all alone in there.”

He turned to face Daryl.

“We **_just_** started this...thing, y’know. I… I know it has to be done and you have to go. And I… like you because of who you are and what you’re like. And this IS who you are. Brave and skillful. I couldn’t wish you were different… but that don’t mean I’m glad it’s you who’s at risk there.”

Rick touched his arm. “You’d better come back, you hear me?” His fingers traveled up, brushing Daryl’s bare arm, making it tingle and prickle.

Daryl swallowed. They were out, basically for all the world to see, and Rick was barely touching him, and… _wow_. 

He took a step closer. _If I’m brave enough to attack a freakin’ town by myself, fuck if I’m not brave enough to do this._ His one hand settled on Rick’s hip, the other cupped his jaw, and he kissed Rick. Right there. _Maggie could see this_ , but he was high on oxytocin or dopamine or whatever fuck that hormone stuff was, and just couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.

Rick gave a surprised little squeal which sounded funny coming from the tough leader, but Daryl hardly paid it any attention -- except it turned him on, oddly enough -- because kissing Rick outside felt just as fucking amazing as in the cell.

Rick’s hands were wandering on his waist, and his back, and traveling on his neck, and his fingers snaked in his hair, gripping it, and Rick’s mouth just got hungrier, _Jesus Christ!_ , Daryl’s fingers convulsed on Rick’s hip, dug deep, and the sound coming out of Rick’s mouth was…

Someone coughed pointedly. And because that passed unnoticed, the someone coughed again. 

Daryl’s bones felt liquid; he was much too dazed to react. Rick stopped kissing him, kept close, lips still touching his, trying to calm his breath. Both men turned their heads to see who the fuck had disturbed them.

Michonne’s face was split in half, she was grinning that widely. Carol’s mouth was slightly open and her cheeks were flushed, and her gaze was definitely… _oh man_ … definitely **_interested_**.

“Please, no need to stop on our account. Feel free to continue, we don’t mind, really we don’t.”

“No, no no, we **_really_** don’t. Honestly. No trouble at all, we’ll just stand here, real quiet.”

“Ladies, you shock me.” Rick said with the utmost dignity, turned away a bit, very conspicuously pulled his shirt from his jeans and let it flow over the front. _Which_ , as Daryl now noticed, _was kinda obviously bulging_. Luckily his long flannel already took care of his problem.

Very solemnly, Rick turned towards the women and the prison, took Daryl’s arm, and stated, “If you’ll excuse us, we have urgent business to attend to.”

By this time, Carol’s face was streaming with tears, and Michonne was holding her sides. The giggles only got louder when the two men strolled past them, and Rick gave them an extremely roguish wink.

They were almost back at the prison when Rick stopped, looked at Daryl, amused. “That’s a very becoming shade of scarlet you have there.”

He continued. “Come on, it’s not so serious. At least we managed to give them a good laugh. That’s not so terrible, considering the situation we’re in.”

They walked back to the common area, Michonne and Carol not far behind. They talked and planned and argued and drew lines on the maps and argued some more and Merle cursed at their idiocy and stomped away, only to return and draw Carol away and whisper furiously. Maggie came back and Merle asked Carol to join him in the tower so they could continue with whatever the mad detail on their mad diversion plan was.

Daryl didn’t really have all that much to plan. He’d take his crossbow and knives and a rifle and a sidearm, plus all kinds of stuff to help ignite all kinds of other stuff. He hesitated with the guns -- should he take them? They were clumsy and heavy and in the event he’d have to use them, the game would be over for him anyway -- but Rick gave him a look that said ‘you ain’t going nowhere without those’, so he gave up. 

It was dark, and Judith fell asleep; it seemed to be a signal for everyone. Carol had said they’d need one day to put together their plan -- they’d leave in the morning to find a car or a truck that would suit their needs, and timers of some kind, alarm clocks or whatever, and in the meanwhile the others would deal with the explosives. 

People started their evening routines. Daryl hesitated -- how was this supposed to go now? Was he... could he... openly go in Rick’s cell? Why not? Everyone already knew. They wouldn’t make fun of it, would they? He didn’t think so. They might laugh about it, like Michonne and Carol, but it had been different kind of laughter. Daryl searched for a word. It hadn’t been mocking, it’d been...well-intentioned. More like they had been laughing _with_ Rick and Daryl, rather than _at_ them.

He was leaning on the wall, waiting for his turn at the sink to brush his teeth. No-one was paying any attention; he slipped into his cell, grabbed his towel, and walked briskly to the showers. _Might as well be clean every once in a while_ , he thought, concentrating hard on that idea and resolutely not thinking of any other motives for his sudden craving for cleanness, or for...y’know… _smelling nice_.

He felt just a bit ridiculous brushing his teeth, then washing his hair, and using the apple-scented soap someone had left there. Then again, this is what people do, right? _I had no problem with the showers Before… it’s just… it was never_ **_because of_ ** _someone, this hair-washing or apple-scented skin…_

He’d taken some clean clothes with him, and tried to walk back to his cell casual as anything, hoping no-one would pay much attention to his damp hair and changed outfit. The Greenes and Glenn still sat at the table, chatting. Maggie glanced at him, gave him a quick smile, but other than that, nobody paid him any undue or awkward attention. Daryl scolded himself for being stupid. He had simply taken a shower, nothing weird about that. Not unheard of even for him. Why did everything carry so much **_meaning_ **now?

Rick emerged from his cell, leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, the thick curtain bunching up on his side. 

“You need to get something or can you come here straight away?” Rick asked in a low voice, looking at Daryl up and down, registering the damp hair and the change of clothes and probably the whiff of apple as well. Daryl felt a distinct warmth of a blush on his cheeks.

“Nah, if there’s somewhere I can put this towel to dry… I’ve got all I need.”

 _Well, that came out sappy_ , and the warmth intensified. Rick smiled, eyes wrinkling, and it made him look softer, happier, and Daryl’s silly heart ramped up its beat.

Rick held the curtain aside; Daryl slunk in under his arm. The other man turned, the curtain fell in place, and the only light now was the dim glow of the ceiling lights seeping in from the common area. Rick had a small table lamp, of course, it just wasn’t on.

“Gimme that, I’ll hang it up on the shelf.” 

Wordlessly, Daryl handed over the towel, dropped his old clothes on a chair, and didn’t quite know what to do with himself then. Rick touched his shoulder, run his fingers to his neck, let them get tangled in the short locks of damp hair, then continued their journey on the other shoulder, over to Daryl’s chest, and soon he found he was being embraced by Rick’s arms, Rick’s head on his shoulder, his body firmly against Daryl’s.

“For the hundredth time, you sure you’re ok with this?”

Daryl nodded. 

“Say it. I wanna hear your words.”

“I’m sure. You shouldn’t…just, don’t ever doubt it, okay?”

“You’re so skittish sometimes…” Rick moved even closer, his body hot and hard, his breath on Daryl’s cheek. “Don’t really know if it’s remorse, y’know, the ‘oh shit what have I done’ kind… or if it’s just you being shy or somethin’...”

“Told ya… haven’t done any of this before. Don’t really get why you’d want me. I guess I’m...just waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. That it’s you who’s gonna go all oh-shit-what-have-I-done-and-how-do-I-get-out-of-this….”

“Well, it won’t drop,” Rick said firmly. He put his hands on Daryl’s shoulder and made the man turn towards him. “What do you think this is? Some kind of a spur of the moment thing? Like I happened to find you in my bed one day and thought, hey, wait, that’s a nice piece of ass, why didn’t I think of that before?”

Rick fell silent, bit his lip.

“You’ve been in my dreams and on my mind for a long time...longer that I’d ever care to admit, honestly, being married and all at the time… Lori and me, we had our problems even Before, though, and something broke in me, the way she took Shane’s death.”

“But you were so devastated when she died?”

“She’d been with me a quarter of a century, she was the mother of my son. Of course I was devastated. It felt like it was the last straw, y’know, what with everything…”

Again he was silent for a while.

“You, though, you’re a whole other thing… You grew on me,” Rick smiled. “And before I knew what was happening, you started to be the main attraction in my dreams. Gotta admit, I wanted to kick myself. That of all the people, I had to go and get a crush on the one person who couldn’t possibly be interested in me like that. But by then we were neck deep in shit, trying to stay alive after the farm, and all I could think of was that I can’t scare you away. That our friendship has got to be enough for me. And it was. Really. I could’ve lived with it. But then Woodbury happened, and it was not enough that I’d barely managed to keep the last thread of my sanity with the Lori thing, then you had to go get yourself caught… I don’t know how I did it. Not reveal my feelings to everyone. Just concentrated on getting you back. And then you left. I still remember how it felt. Like broken glass in my veins.”

Silence. Daryl felt dizzy; he realized he’d been holding his breath. _Idiot_.

“But you came back. And after, there were little things… stuff… that made me think, what if I’ve got a chance? I wasn’t sure...didn’t want to get my hopes up… but there was something...and after the tombs I thought… that somehow, I need to push this a bit, I need to see… but as it turns out, we did the pushing together, right?” Rick threw a cautious smile at Daryl.

“I guess we did.” Daryl wrapped his arms around Rick and pulled him closer. “I still don’t get why you’re interested in me but I guess I should trust you to know your own mind.” 

Rick’s hands traveled again, on Daryl’s shoulders, and neck, until he was holding the hunter’s face so gently. Daryl didn’t even notice which one initiated it; suddenly they just were kissing, bodies flush against each other.

“I’ll make a list of the things why I’m interested in you, if you want,” Rick chuckled a bit breathlessly when they stopped. “It’ll take some time ‘cause it’s a fuckin’ LONG list.”

He paused. “Just… didn’t think I’d have a chance with you. Had no idea you could be into men at all.”

“Yeah… got me by surprise a bit as well.” Daryl felt uneasy talking about the subject; nasty little lingering remnants of his upbringing and almost-completely-internalized attitudes still causing discomfort. He just hoped that one day they’d be all gone, all traces destroyed and forgotten.

“All my life, I just thought there was somethin’ wrong with me. Like, why didn’t any of the girls who hung out with us ever get me goin’, y’know? It was just another thing for the guys to tease me about, and Merle loved to point out how no good I was as a Dixon, not fuckin’ around, y’know? Bought me a hooker for my twentieth birthday, ‘to get me started finally’. I tried, I guess...but the whole thing was so embarrassin’ that I...couldn’t… and that really fueled Merle, he ranted that maybe he should’ve got me a rent boy instead. Well. You know how he talks.”

Rick was caressing his hair, fingers twined in the short locks. Daryl went on.

“Mostly, I guess I thought I just wasn’t interested in **_anyone_** , and I really thought this was just another thing wrong and messed up and broken in me. Then… I think it was, like, five years ago, Merle and some guys were at our house and they were surfin’ the porn channels. They left to go pick up more beer and I stayed, and, just, kept flickin’ through the channels, and ended up gettin’ an eyeful of two guys fuckin’ and… I just… froze. Kept watchin’. I liked it, and I hated myself for it. Found it funny, too, ironical, y’know. That really was the cherry on top of Daryl Dixon’s freakiness. I mean, just **_how_ ** wrong can you get? My dad would’ve honest-to-god killed me, and Merle, I don’t know… back then...he’s not takin’ this so well now but I think it would’ve been worse back then… So it wasn’t really an option to pursue, y’know? Not that I even wanted to. ‘cause liking **_that_ ** just proved how **_wrong_ **I was. When I heard the guys come back, I changed the channel, and they...noticed… I was kinda turned on, which, funnily enough, bought me some peace an’ quiet for awhile. ‘cause that made them think I was normal after all…”

Daryl’s heart beat just a little too fast. This was not a comfortable subject to talk about. But maybe Rick deserved to know. He didn’t know where to look; he didn’t have the guts to look into Rick’s eyes. _Coward_.

“Then the walker shit started and you know what it’s been like since. Not really time to concentrate on your sexuality crisis, y’know? And it’s not like sex was on my mind anyway, what with just tryin’ to stay alive with Merle, and then when that stopped bein’ the main issue, along comes some fuckin’ sheriff and Merle disappears and the freakin’ sheriff just stays there and before you know it you’re just… followin’ him. Trustin’ him. And then you realize he’s your friend for some reason, and how the hell did that happen, never really havin’ had friends before. Not really gettin’ the concept, even.”

Rick’s hands kept moving, now towards his chest, rubbing it soothingly.

“It didn’t start out with me wantin’ to **_kiss_** you, or anythin’ like that, y’know? I had **_that_** part pushed away pretty well by then. You’re just…” Daryl almost choked; should he really say the next words? Rick hadn’t talked anything about...what if that’s not what he wants? What he even wants to know? “...fairly easy to fall in love with.” 

Rick’s hands stopped, shocked. So did Daryl’s heart. Rick’s hand left his chest, and Daryl’s soul shrunk, like something had sucked it empty, crushed like a balloon. 

There was a hand under his jaw, forcing his face to move, trying to make him meet Rick’s gaze. 

So he did. Anything for Rick.

The other man was smiling. A shocked, surprised, pleased, **_happy_ **smile.

“You’re in love with me?”

Daryl’s heart started pumping again; his soul fluttered, still alive. _Rick’s smiling._

“Kinda, yeah. Just didn’t think it’d ever have a snowball’s chance, you bein’ married an’ all, and my friend, an’ me bein’ a freak in any case.”

“You know you’re not a freak, right? You get that now?”

“Yeah, I get it. Mostly, at least. Don’t really know what changed. Enough of this apocalyptic shit, and some old stuff just doesn’t seem to mean so much anymore, y’know?” 

Daryl hesitated; he didn’t really know how to put this in words, but Rick was always patient with him, so maybe he should just try muddle on. 

“With Merle, after Woodbury… somethin’ happened, I think. I stopped carin’ and also accepted that I cared, y’know, if that makes sense? Merle’s rants and insults and that old crap, like, why should I care? With how the world turned out, they don’t mean shit anymore. Sometimes I had trouble even gettin’ who he was talkin’ about, and then it hit me he was talkin’ about me, and I hadn’t recognized any of it. But at the same time, I missed **_you_** , I missed these people, and I heard myself in my mind, words were changin’, and suddenly I’m sayin’ I **_love_ ** you, I **_love_ ** my family, and that was a revelation of sorts, hearin’ the slip-up in my head. And the thing on the bridge, that was just the final straw. I **_belong_ **here with the people I love. And if that meant I have to live with the...pain...of lovin’ ya, then so be it. I’d never leave ya, I’d try to be a good friend to ya, help ya with everythin’, that would have to be enough. So we came back. And stuff just...for some reason...started to come out, like someone had corked a champagne bottle.”

Silence.

“You’re trembling.”

He hadn’t even noticed. He was trembling so hard his teeth were chattering.

Rick grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bed. He pushed Daryl on the bed and settled beside him, took him in his arms and held tightly. Rick was warm and hard and soft, and his firm hands stroke Daryl’s arms and back. He was safe. He had got it all out, and he was still here, and Rick still seemed to want him. And he felt liberated somehow, having said that stuff out loud for the first time in his life. The decades old, tight and ugly knot had unraveled, and he. was. still. here!

The tremors were abating, his teeth no longer chattering. His face was buried in Rick’s neck, and on an impulse he kissed him there. Nipped, and licked, and kissed again. Really put his mind to it. Rick gave a low growl, gripped Daryl’s hair and pulled -- not too hard, just…enough, to make something flare in his belly -- and looked Daryl straight in the eye, “Feeling better now, are we?”

“Mmmhm.” Rick loosened his grip and Daryl took advantage of the situation, and flung himself on Rick, straddling him, raked with his fingers, up, from Rick’s waist to his chest, slow and probably too firm, but it was too delicious to watch how Rick inhaled hard, how his abs contracted sharply, and how he shuddered when Daryl’s nails scraped over the thin fabric covering his nipples.

Rick put his hands on Daryl’s knees, spread his fingers to touch as much of him as possible, and slid them firmly until they slowed down on his hips, fingers crawling, slow and careful, under Daryl’s shirt. Daryl gasped at the touch, the first intentional going-under-clothes touch, and forgot all about being shy. He leaned down, settled himself on Rick, wanting to feel all of him against his own body, and mashed their mouths together. Rick growled again, and Daryl’s dick reacted to the sound, and he thought Rick could keep making that sound, and he’d never, ever, get tired of it. _Who’d’ve thought sounds would be such a turn on?_

Rick’s fingers raked under Daryl’s shirt, up and down his sides, always stopping at his waistband, not venturing much on his back for which Daryl was grateful. Rick had seen him, of course; still, he wasn’t ready to be touched there, to feel anyone’s hands on his scarred and damaged skin. 

Rick rolled them on their side, his hand traveling under the shirt, going up, brushing his nipple, making him **_gasp_** , and Rick stopped there, scraped a little, twisted it a little, and Daryl really hadn’t had a clue that his nipples had a direct line to his dick. Rick chuckled into his mouth, moved his mouth to kiss his chin and cheeks and nose and whispered, “You like that?” 

Without waiting for an answer -- which Daryl wasn’t quite sure he could’ve given anyway, he was having trouble thinking anything more complex than _more more more!_ \-- Rick started sucking and licking his throat which sent a whole new barrage of sensations all over his body. His hands acted on their own, gripping Rick tighter, one hand sinking its fingertips on his back, the other, _Jesus fuckin’ Christ!_ , finding its way on Rick’s ass, pulling him closer, jerking his own hips, seeking _touch_ , and _ohgodohgod_ Rick was just as hard as he was.

“Oh fuck,” he heard Rick pant, and the next thing he knew was Rick’s fingers, shaking but trying to snap open the button on his jeans. “Wanna touch you.” 

Rick’s voice, so out-of-control, so full of want, and Daryl’s hand came to help him, and when his zipper was open, Daryl’s deft fingers moved over to Rick’s jeans. No energy to spare to useless fears of _unexperienced_ or _don’t disappoint Rick_ \-- the wild _want_ emanating from Rick made him bold, made him trust in them, let him free to follow his instincts, for once, without fear.

Daryl didn’t know which one felt more incredible, awesome, pleasurable -- was it the feeling of Rick’s hard, hot cock in his hand, the softness of the glans, the pearls of precum making it all slick, Rick’s breath hitching, the sound of his grunt when Daryl began to move his hand, searching for just the right amount of pressure. Or was it the feeling of another person’s hand on his own dick, for the first time ever, and it was _Rick’s_ hand, calloused and firm, thumb brushing his slit and spreading the precum, fingers curling around his hard length.

They were moving together, kissing, and when they couldn’t focus on kissing anymore, they shared the air they breathed, lips almost touching. Rick came first, shuddering, tensing up, and Daryl felt the warm come slick his palm. That was pretty much it for him, all the wiring short-circuited at the same time and, _swear to god_ , he saw stars -- probably some fuses in his head blew… He came all over Rick’s hand, and some of it on Rick’s cock as well. Muscles relaxed, lips met again, all tension gone, and Daryl couldn’t muster up any energy to worry about his performance or skills. Rick was still there, and they were kissing slow and soothing, so it can’t have been that bad, right?

***

“I had such plans for tonight,” Rick chuckled, languid and content.

“We’ve time.”

Rick’s answer took a few heartbeats too long to come. “Yeah. Sure.”

Daryl bit his lip. “I’m coming back, y’know.”

Rick was silent.

“You don’t trust my skills? The plan we’ve made?” Daryl didn’t know what to think. He knew Rick was worried, but…

“I trust you, and us. It’s them I don’t trust. I can’t _not_ worry…”

This time it was Daryl who was silent. He chewed on his lip; it was plump and swollen from all the kissing, and felt odd -- good odd. He shouldn’t make this a trust issue. Worry wasn’t such an unfamiliar feeling to Daryl either. He worried about his family. He worried about Rick every single time the man was out of his sight. It wasn’t about trust, it was about bitter experience of how a truckload of shit can hit the fan despite the best-laid plans.

“Worry all you like but save some for tomorrow, we’ve still got a day. And I WILL come back. We WILL make this happen.” He was surprised of the strength of his own voice. There was conviction there, in spite of his knowing the risk.

Rick kissed him, gentle and thorough.

“Yeah, I know. We can do this. And maybe I’ll save my big plans for tomorrow, right?” Suddenly Rick stopped kissing, drew back a bit and squinted to look at Daryl’s eyes in the dim light. Daryl couldn’t see much better but he was certain the look on Rick’s face was questioning. Uncertain.

“You… we...this is a thing now, right? No skulking about anymore? I can...expect to spend nights with you from now on, right?”

Daryl snorted. “You bet your ass you can.” He frowned. “You even need to ask? Forgot the whole ‘in love with you’ shit I just told you? Old age catchin’ up on you?”

Even the dimness of the room didn’t prevent him from noticing the broad smile on Rick’s face.

“Nah, just wanted to make sure.” Rick honest-to-god sniggered. “May I call you my _boyfriend_ now?”

 _The horror!_ Daryl didn’t know whether to laugh or sneer or… well, he had to admit there was also a warm little happy flutter in his heart at the ridiculous term. 

“You may call me Daryl, and that’s it. Jesus Christ, we’re over forty, ain’t cool to talk about boyfriends…”

“Don’t know about that,” Rick smiled. “And what do we care about what’s cool or not? We get to define those things now. But ok. I’ll just call you Daryl,” Rick kissed him, “but I want to be able to say _my_ Daryl, sometimes, that ok with you?”

“You’re fuckin’ sappy, you know that, right?” But Daryl was smiling, and Rick felt it on his lips.

***

Daryl woke up to the quiet gurgle of the coffeemaker. _Ugh_ , they’d fallen asleep, right there, with jizz on their hands and stomachs and t-shirts. He nudged the other man. “Hey, wake up. Lots to do today. Like get a shower, and I mean right now!”

“When did you become such a neatnik?” Rick mumbled, trying to draw the blanket over his ears. Daryl was having none of that. He pulled the blanket away in no uncertain terms.

“Me, I’ve got hidden depths. Now, get up. I ain’t goin’ out there alone, got enough of Carol’s giggles yesterday. And we’ll wash these shirts in the shower as well, don’t think it’s fair to ask her to do it, y’know…”

Rick’s shoulders shook; he turned his face to Daryl and he saw the other man was laughing silently. “When you’re right, you’re right.” He sobered. “And we have a lot to do today. If Carol’s still out there, it means they haven’t left yet. Ok, let’s go, wanna talk to her about the stuff they’re searching for…”

They grabbed their towels and two fresh t-shirts. “The other one is for you… we’ll figure a system after this is over. Find a bigger cell or somethin’.”

The first thing facing Daryl when he stepped out of the cell was Merle’s glare. His gut reaction was a tight, cold cringe in his stomach. He had to remind himself that it was over. No more. He’d have to re-train himself, rewire his brains to sidestep his first instincts. _Merle can glower all he wants. He don’t wanna have sex with a man, he don’t have to. But he ain’t got any right to say who_ **_I_** _’m supposed to love or not._

He nodded to Carol who was sipping coffee like nothing was any different in their little family. 

The two men showered; Daryl still felt self-conscious, getting naked in front of Rick like that, _knowing_ that he was looking. He dared a glance at him, and the blatant admiration and need in Rick’s eyes wiped the awkwardness away.

  
  



	5. The Things We Do...

After the breakfast, Rick talked with Carol and Merle about their supply run, and Daryl, Glenn and Maggie went to inventory their ammunition and everything they could use to make explosives. 

Daryl kept himself busy, not really wanting to think about tomorrow morning. They’d only have this one shot, they couldn’t just wait for the Governor’s attack, and Daryl knew -- in spite of his confidence in his own skills -- the margin for error inside Woodbury would be infinitesimal. The plan Carol and Merle had cooked up also rode on a pretty fine schedule, and a lot of things had to go just right; otherwise their group would risk getting overridden by Woodburyans.

Evening fell all too soon. They were all on edge, ever Hershel. Daryl didn’t even notice until Rick came to him, concern in his eyes, that he’d fallen to his usual habits and been pacing along the common area like a caged tiger, not knowing how to stay still.

Rick didn’t ask stupid questions, like ‘you ok?’ ‘cause of course he wasn’t, and neither was anyone else in this room. Rick gripped his arm and stopped the pacing. “You have everything you need for tomorrow?” he simply asked.

“Yeah,” Daryl grunted. He looked around at the others. At Merle, lounging in a chair in false relaxation. At Carol, cleaning her gun, lips tight but otherwise calm. At the Greenes, huddled together -- Maggie would be the only one of them out there tomorrow, and Daryl could guess how Hershel and Beth felt about that. At Glenn, holding Judith, eyes downcast, deep in concentration.

At Rick, standing there in front of him. “Yeah,” he said again. “Ain’t that much I need. You just check **_you_** ’ve got everythin’.”

Thus far, Daryl hadn’t asked for anything. Asking help didn’t come naturally for him, having had to be mostly self-reliant his whole life. But he had to say this.

“Everythin’ goes as planned, I get in, put him down, get out. All quiet-like, y’know. And I don’t need your distractions. But if not, then…” Daryl didn’t know how to go on. “...I might need ya, bombs an’ all.” He couldn’t put it any plainer, just didn’t have it in him.

Rick knew to say the words; the familiar phrase, and Daryl wondered how he’d ever forgotten that the magic words had always been there. 

“We’ve got your back.”

He had to smile, relief evident on his face. He hadn’t had to say it out loud, his pathetic wish to live through this, to come back to Rick and his family. Rick knew it already, the way they’d been able to read each other for such a long time -- it was still there, keener than ever.

“Yeah. Just take care of each other, ok. I come back from this, there’s better be people here to come back **_to_**.”

Rick’s hand gripped him more firmly, and he repeated Daryl’s own words. “We WILL make this happen.”

Rick turned to the others and cleared his voice. “Wake up at one, and we’ll leave at two. So we’ve got a few hours to spend, and I suggest we all try to rest if possible. We’ll need our strength tomorrow.”

He still had his hand on Daryl, and now he pulled the hunter with him towards his cell. Merle’s scowl followed them but Daryl couldn’t be bothered to blush. For all he knew, this could be their last time together, so what the hell did it matter what Merle thought?

Daryl entered the cell first, holding the curtain open for Rick. He let his eyes get used to the gloom of the room, and turned to look at Rick. The other man was leaning against the wall, nibbling his lip, watching Daryl with intent eyes.

“Wanna talk?” Rick asked.

“Not really.” He really didn’t. What was there to say, six hours before the operation? They already knew they were worried about each other, about everyone. They knew their plans, their timetables. Talking about it more, in here, would only make it worse. _I mean, what’s there left to say? That these might be the last hours we have? I don’t wanna say it out loud, I don’t think Rick does either._

“Me neither.” Rick took the few steps needed and put his arms around Daryl. A simple hug, not really that different from the hugs they’d shared a few times over the past months. After the more daring things they’d done, Daryl had somehow thought a hug might not feel much of anything anymore. He found he’d been wrong. It was warm, intimate, caring. He felt secure, and hoped Rick felt the same way with Daryl’s arms holding him.

They stood there, hugging, holding each other, for a long time. The closeness was comforting and reassuring. Daryl felt Rick let out a deep sigh; the air brushed the strands of hair by his ear. Rick nuzzled his cheek, their stubbles scratching against each other. He pressed a fond little kiss on the corner of Daryl’s mouth, and the hunter thought _so this is what it feels like, your heart breaking from happiness_ , and it was such an absurd little thought coming from a Dixon, from a prosaic redneck, that a chuckle burst out of him, causing Rick to pull his head back a bit and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s nothin’,” he hastened to say.

“Gotta be somethin’, to make you laugh at a time like this,” Rick said drily.

Daryl felt his cheeks warm up. A Dixon can’t say this stuff…

“I’m happy,” he blurted, almost stumbling on the strange word. He racked his brain for a second, wondered if he’d ever used it before about himself. Ever.

Rick’s turn to chuckle. “You’re a curious man, you know that? But hey, if a little kiss makes you happy, who am I to say no?” 

Rick kissed him again, all over his face, until Daryl took his face between his hands and laughed. 

“Stop,” he said. He brushed Rick’s jawline with his thumbs, circled them back over his chin, along his lips. Noticed only then he was biting hard on his lower lip, staring at Rick’s mouth, fascinated at how his thumb glided over his lips. 

The air was thicker, warmer. He raised his eyes to Rick, whose eyes were fixed on Daryl’s mouth. Self-conscious, he let his lip go, gave them a quick lick, as Rick met his eyes. Daryl dropped his hands.

“Wanna sleep?” Daryl asked, suddenly nervous all over again.

“Not particularly.” Rick’s voice was low and husky. 

“Then what?” Daryl shifted his weight from foot to foot. He knew he was jittery -- just wasn’t quite sure why. It’s just that...this time, it was deliberate. Coming here, in the cell, like that, as a couple, out in the open, everyone seeing them go there. To do _couple stuff_ , and frankly, Daryl was just a bit spooked by nameless, shapeless _expectations_. He’d liked it all so far, hell yes! And he was in… -- fuck this! -- he LOVED Rick, so what’s there to be spooked about? Come on!

Rick looked at him. “You’re nervous,” he stated.

“‘m not!” A Dixon’s gut reaction: denial.

Rick tilted his head. “Not about tomorrow, I think.” 

Daryl looked down. Rick touched his chin, nudged it up. “Hey, come on...don’t do the skittish thing again. Daryl, please, look at me.”

So he did.

“Is it...something about _this_ ,” Rick waved his hand at the cell, “that’s causing it?”

Daryl nodded. He had no words. Shit, give him a dozen walkers and a few Governors any time, no problem. But this? In the past few days he’d talked more than during the last ten years. He was all out of words, all out of energy to fucking _explain himself_. Fuck, he’d have forty years’ worth of shitty stuff to explain if it comes to that. Couldn’t be done. Or, maybe over the _next_ forty years -- if they had that much time. He kept looking at Rick, hoping the connection they had would do the work for him this time.

“...oh.” Rick brushed a stray lock of hair away from Daryl’s forehead. “We’ll just rest a bit. Relax, together.” Rick started taking off his shirt. He smiled calmly. “It’s hot in there if we’re fully clothed, you know that.” He took away his boots and stepped in the bed, scooted back against the wall. “You come in here when you feel like it, ok?” 

Then he started talking about future supply runs they’d be doing after tomorrow was over and done with. About maybe planning for growing stuff, vegetables and shit like that. To be more self-sufficient, little by little.

Oh, Daryl knew what Rick was doing. He was soothing him, calming him down like he would a startled animal, talking all calm and kind. He didn’t know if he should be amused or aggravated -- he wasn’t no dainty damsel. Then he caught himself: yeah, he wasn’t no dainty damsel, but he sure was acting like one. Daryl grew impatient with himself. Enough with this angsty shit!

He took off his vest and shirt and boots, and climbed in the bed. Rick had his arm waiting -- Daryl settled his head there. He sighed. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Rick was lying on his side, not touching him except for his arm under Daryl. Giving him a bit of space. “If there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, you can tell me. You can. Do you believe me?” 

Rick waited. And waited. Finally Daryl nodded. He did believe Rick, had no reason not to. 

Rick went on. “Just like I believe I can tell you if there’s something **_I_** ’m uncomfortable with.” 

That hit home. It reminded Daryl of his earlier thoughts -- that maybe he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about this new thing. He was examining this idea so hard, he almost, almost missed Rick’s next words. Almost, but not quite.

“You know I love you, right?”

Daryl’s world swayed.

“Well if you didn’t before, now you know. I love you. I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you but I’ll promise to try not to. I can be an asshole sometimes, you’ve known me long enough to know that… but I’ll do my best, ok? So please tell me if I’m doing something wrong, please trust me enough to know you can always talk to me. ‘cause I’m trusting you, with my life, with everything I have.”

The hunter swallowed. Mentally straightened his back, relaxed his shoulders. 

“Didn’t know that. And you ain’t done nothin’ wrong. And I trust ya.”

_Three answers in one go. That’s succinct Dixonese for ya!_

Rick spoke it fluently. He kissed Daryl, and the archer realized he wasn’t nervous. Could hardly remember the feeling anymore. Puff, gone, just like that.

He wanted very much to return to one of the previous topics.

“You love me?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Hmm, I promised to make you a list of why I want you. I haven’t had time to write it down yet…” _*ooof*_

Daryl had nudged him in the belly. “I meant...when? You didn’t say anythin’ when I…” He went silent.

“I know. It’s just that when you said you were in love with me, it sorta drowned everythin’ else in my head. Later I realized I hadn’t told you. Y’know, I don’t know when it started. I know I _understood_ it when you came back. I could’ve kicked myself for bein’ so stupid, not realizing it sooner. That _that’s_ what it had been all about. Not just an inappropriate little crush, but something else. All the thoughts and the dreams, and the way I was so fuckin’ lost when you left. Like the world was all wrong just because of it. That sorta thing ain’t just a crush. Ain’t just a weirdly deep friendship. But something else.”

They lay there without talking for a long while. They both had moved a little closer; Rick’s face touched Daryl’s messy hair and he felt the warm puffs of air on his temple. He was holding Rick’s hand now on his belly, trying to not think much of anything. 

“Ain’t nobody said that to me before.” The words came out, unplanned, surprising Daryl probably more than Rick.

Rick got the context.

“High time someone said it, then. You should be loved. You should _hear_ that you’re loved.” He paused. “But really...no-one? Your mom, even?”

Daryl shook his head. “Not much for tender talk, my family. I guess she loved me and Merle -- just not enough to stop boozing. Not enough to stay alive.” There was no accusing tone, no bitterness; it was a simple fact.

Rick marveled at this man. How was it even possible to retain a capability to love with a background like that? How hadn’t his huge heart been crushed to bitter, nasty crumbs decades ago?

“Did you believe me?”

“You ain’t never lied to me before. Got no reason to assume you’d start with a lie like that.”

Rick squeezed his hand. Leaned forward to kiss him. It was meant to be a chaste little kiss, but Daryl’s other hand slithered over Rick’s arm to his neck, his fingers curled in his hair, and wouldn’t let go. The kiss grew to something else entirely. 

Rick let go of Daryl’s hand and slid his palm over Daryl’s ribs, sliding over the thin t-shirt, bumping on a hard nipple -- and the tiny gasp into Rick’s mouth made him slide over the nipple again, just to hear the sound again. He felt Daryl’s body tense, not out of anxiety but simply because the hunter was turned on. Rick’s fingers jerked and got a life of their own, raking down, reaching the hem of Daryl’s shirt, traveling under it, skimming over his abdomen, feeling the muscles contract abruptly, traveling back up, raking his fingernails over the tortured nipple. Daryl pulled his mouth away, panted, “Jesus Christ that’s sensitive.”

Rick raised himself up on his elbow, looking at Daryl from above, Rick’s fingers still caressing his chest, sliding back down, fingernails scraping his skin, resulting in another delicious reaction from his abs. Rick had had plans -- they’d need a bit of adjusting to fit the current mood of his hunter, but other than that...

“Let me make you feel good, ok?” Rick’s fingers danced on the smooth skin of Daryl’s abdomen, brushed over his navel, scraped the coarse hair of the tempting line vanishing under his waistband.

“Mmmm...whatcha have in mind?” Daryl was a little breathless; the tone held excitement, curiosity and worry in equal amounts. Rick needed to obliterate the worry, right the fuck now! Logically, he knew Daryl’s problems and insecurities lay too deep for them to vanish overnight, but he swore he’d do his goddamn best to make them fade away.

“Just...relax, ok, let me take care of you. And remember, if anything -- anything at all -- that I do makes you feel bad, you tell me, ok? But please trust me, I just wanna make you feel good…”

Daryl ran his hand down to Rick’s shoulder, wiggled his other hand from under Rick over his waist.

“‘k.”

Rick kissed him. Slid his lips over Daryl’s short beard, over his jawline, down to his neck. Daryl arched his throat, inviting Rick’s lips. Rick bit him lightly, licked over the tiny mark, humming happily about the low whimpers he was drawing out. He slithered down, pushed the t-shirt up at the same time, and got his mouth on Daryl’s nipple. Good thing everyone already knew about them, because the wanton cry that Daryl let out, amazed and aroused, was loud enough to carry through the thick curtain. 

Rick couldn’t help but smile. He grazed the nipple with his teeth one last time, then looked at Daryl. “I don’t have to gag you, do I?” 

Words out of his mouth, for an awful moment he wondered if he’d fucked up -- joking about violence or any sort of physical restraint might be a catastrophic mistake, considering… Just when he was about to apologize, he noticed Daryl flush, his eyes darken. _Never assume_ , Rick thought, and continued his journey downwards, tasting Daryl’s skin, kissing and caressing.

Daryl felt Rick’s stubble scrape his skin. His nerve endings were already on high alert, and this wasn’t helping any. Rick’s warm, wet tongue dipped in his navel; Daryl gasped, trying to keep his voice down. Rick had joked about gagging him, and it shouldn’t have turned him on like that, should it? _Is there a rule book I don’t know about?_

Rick’s hands were everywhere -- on his chest, his sides, his biceps, his thighs. Brushing, pressing, raking, sliding, and Daryl didn’t know what to do, except squirm in pleasure and bite the side of his hand to keep from crying out again. He tried to rise, to touch Rick, but the other man pushed him down firmly. “Let me take care of you this time, ok?”

Confused, he kept looking at Rick, at his hands traveling down, settling on the button of his jeans, snapping it open, sliding the zipper down, Rick’s tongue making heady swirls on the soft skin under his jeans.

Daryl’s head jerked back, hit the pillow. _Jesus Christ I’m slow! Oh fuck, fuck…_

He let Rick pull the jeans off. The ex-deputy kissed his way back along Daryl’s legs and thighs and hips. He stopped and slid his palm slowly between Daryl’s thighs. Instinctively, Daryl opened his legs, allowing the touch. Rick’s fingers skimmed over Daryl’s balls and up his cock, rock hard and twitching, leaking precum on his stomach. Daryl raised his head to see Rick touching him; the older man brushed with his forefinger over the slit, and brought the wet fingertip to his mouth, sucked the precum off of it. Daryl could do nothing except stare, his brain had shut down completely. 

Next thing he saw was Rick’s dark head lowered, his pink tongue flat on his cock, licking slowly from root to tip, lips closing on the glans, mouth sucking on his dick, dark locks swaying as Rick’s head bobbed up and down, and then Daryl couldn’t look anymore, he’d come even quicker… he let out a low groan, tried to stay still, fought against the overwhelming need to buck his hips, fuck Rick’s mouth...but when he felt Rick’s fingers on his balls, rolling them on his palm, he lost the fight, his hips gave a small jerk, and another, and Rick didn’t seem to mind, he seemed to like it, he hummed and moaned and the sounds resonated on Daryl’s cock, and the pleasure exploded before Daryl had any chance of warning Rick.

Again, Rick didn’t seem to mind. He drank everything Daryl gave him, and licked him clean. 

Daryl heard a throaty whimper; he could barely raise his head anymore, he was too blissed out. He saw Rick on his hands and knees, head down, panting, arms trembling.

“Rick?”

“...yeah. ‘m ok.”

The other man crawled to Daryl’s side and laid down.

“Wow.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Daryl felt light and happy.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Wow. How...why did you do it? Why would you do that to me?”

“Did it feel good?”

Daryl turned to his side to face Rick. It was hard to move, he was way too relaxed and mellow, but the teeny tiny undertone of hesitance required action. 

He touched Rick’s cheek, ran his fingers to his lips, and leaned over to kiss him. He tasted himself in Rick’s mouth, _wow, ohmygod I can’t believe he did that_ , and the rush of emotion forced out a moan.

“How can you even ask? **_Yes_ **it felt good. But...why?”

Rick’s voice was low and hoarse. _Did I do that, fuckin’ his mouth?_ and the thought sent shivers through Daryl’s exhausted body. _Jesus, that man’s gonna be the death of me…_

“‘cause it feels good and I wanted to give you that. ‘cause I love you. ‘cause I wanted to taste you. ‘cause I wanted to have you in my mouth.” Rick paused to kiss some more. “That reasons enough for ya?”

Rick paused again.

“Gotta admit I didn’t expect to enjoy it quite that much.”

“Oh?”

The man honest-to-god blushed crimson, the change so clear it was obvious even in the dim light.

“Kinda came when you did.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. That was all kinds of hot, and his cock gave a valiant little twitch. It’s not that Daryl hadn’t fantasized about a blowjob from Rick ever since they’d started the sleeping thing. He’d just never believed it’d actually happen. That Rick would want to touch him like that. _But he had, and he’d liked it so much he’d come. Untouched._ _Jesus fuckin’ Christ!_

“Come here,” he said quietly, and drew Rick in his arms. The other man put his head on Daryl’s chest, and Daryl wrapped his arms around him. Felt good to hold him there.

***

“Oh.Dear.God! I did NOT need to see that!” Glenn was laughing his ass off, which woke both men up pretty damn efficiently. “Shit, guys, you’re lucky we didn’t send Carl or Beth to wake you up! Or rather, _they_ ’re lucky...”

Daryl’s eyes were closed. If only he could keep them that way... 

He was still lying on his back -- Rick was sprawled half across him, one leg over his, one hand drifted on Daryl’s hip, fingers tangled in his coarse pubic hair. It was all, well, _innocent_ might be an unsuitable word, considering, but that movement had happened while they were asleep. He could understand how it looked to the giggling Glenn, though.

“If we look so hilarious, why’re you still watching us?” Rick asked with a drowsy voice.

“Nah, seeing what a day we’re gonna have, I figure I need all the laughs I can get.” Glenn sounded half amused, half serious. Daryl found he didn’t begrudge his amusement. If the sight of his flaccid cock and Rick’s hand beside it gave Glenn something to laugh about this morning, then he was welcome to it.

 _Maybe it took me over forty years to get there but my zen is definitely increasing_ , he thought, amused in spite of what lied ahead of them today.

Rick dragged himself up and climbed over Daryl’s legs to stand by the bed. He picked up Daryl’s jeans and handed them over. Daryl got up and pulled them on; Rick took his off, cleaned himself with a rag and a bottle of water and put on some slightly cleaner jeans -- business as usual. They got dressed and stepped to the common area. 

Carol had made coffee to help everyone wake up. As if there was any way anyone **_could_ ** stay sleepy right now. They ate some, they drank some, they didn’t much feel like talking. Even Merle concentrated on the next few hours and had no time to scowl at Daryl.

“We leave in ten. It’ll take an hour for Daryl to get there, forty-five minutes for Merle and Carol to reach their target area and get everything ready. The rest of us, y’all know where to go. We’re backups for two purposes -- for securing Daryl’s getaway, and for taking out anyone who comes after our little diversion.”

Daryl was leaning on the wall, holding his crossbow, listening to Rick speak calmly, coldly, clinically, about killing anyone who dared to show their face outside Woodbury’s fences tonight. Offing them like bugs. There was no emotion in Rick’s voice. Daryl wondered about that -- the things the end of the world did to people. And yet he knew that was not the whole of Rick. He knew his lover would much rather coexist than kill, but whatcha gonna do if the other party refuses to play ball? Daryl had no problem killing people if necessary -- but only if necessary to protect his people. Not like the Governor: attacking, torturing, setting brother against brother in a field surrounded by bloodthirsty spectators. 

No, Daryl got why Rick was cold. You can’t and you don’t make deals with devils, ever. 

“Let’s try to keep casualties to a minimum. We’re not the bad guys here, we’ll do what we can to keep that in mind, ok? But,” Rick’s eyes moved steadily from one group member to the next, “my first priority is this family. You do whatever you need to do to ensure that every single one of us comes back tonight. You hear me? No heroics. No unnecessary killing but no unnecessary mercy either -- not if it means risking any of our own people.”

Rick paused, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, absent-mindedly putting his hand on the Python resting on his hip. He looked restless, ready to go, ready to fight; his lips were a tight line, and his head had that particular tilt Daryl recognized. Nothing good would come to any Woodburyan who’d have the misfortune to get in Rick’s way.

“We’ll be leaving Hershel, Carl, and Beth to hold the fort here. I don’t need to remind any of you how risky that is. I don’t need to remind you that failure is not an option tonight. I don’t relish the idea of assassinating a man in his sleep, but if cutting the head of the snake saves dozens of other lives, that’s the trade-off I’m willing to take. And live with it. As will Daryl. It’s not an easy burden to bear but he’s prepared to carry it. Let’s make sure it’s not for nothing, ok.”

Even Merle was listening, for once without an ounce of sneer on his face. Rick had a way with him, not necessarily just with words but with putting his whole being in them. Channeling conviction and passion.

Daryl checked the watch Hershel had borrowed him. “It’s time,” he said in his gravelly voice. Rick glanced at him, looked back at the others, and nodded.

The ones left guarding the prison -- their home -- were all armed to the teeth. Rick nearly couldn’t bear to look at his son, forlorn, too small, too young to carry a rifle, knowing he might have to use it on people. Too young to have those lines of worry and determination on his face.

There really wasn’t time for all the hugs they gave to Hershel, Carl and Beth, but every one of them needed to do it. Except Merle, and even he gave Hershel a firm handshake and an awkward pat on Carl and Beth’s shoulders. Daryl could hardly believe his ears as he discerned the low voice of his brother blurting “And the little one?” to Beth, trying hard not be overheard by anyone else. Beth turned her huge, luminous eyes to the surly man and answered in his soft voice, “She’s sleeping. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“‘m not…” Merle’s indignant answer faded out. He grunted, and obviously Beth read an “okay, good” somewhere in the sound of that grunt, because she gave him a tiny smile and a whispered “Good luck”.

For a moment Daryl was severely bewildered. Merle hadn’t, for decades, managed to surprise him with anything he said -- mainly because the man kept saying the same spiteful things over and over. Daryl had never witnessed the man actually give an honest, disinterested shit about anyone else but himself or his brother -- and even his brother only sometimes.

He grabbed his backpack and guns and followed Rick out to the cars. _I’ll have time to think about Merle when we come back._

  
  



	6. Crossbows And Cocktails

There was no moon, hardly any stars either, the sky was covered in clouds. This was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it made sneaking undetected around Woodbury much easier. On the other, it made sneaking around Woodbury that much more difficult as you couldn’t bloody well **_see_ ** where you stepped. Daryl cursed to himself for the umpteenth time when he hit his foot on yet another tree root.

Every watch post had at least two guards. Daryl found only a handful of places where he could even consider trying to get over the fence but he kept looking -- there had to be a better place somewhere. He came across a dark watch post. There seemed to be two guards; one was sitting, the other was standing and looking at the woods, hands raised to his face. At first Daryl didn’t think anything of it; then the unpleasant realization hit him. The guard had night vision binoculars. Daryl tried to damp down his worry: they weren’t necessarily of good quality, and he had been moving real careful, from one tree to another. If the guard had seen him, why wouldn’t he already have raised hell? So he hadn’t seen him, right? And Daryl had only to wait a bit. Hopefully. He was running out of time and options.

“Gonna go take a leak.” The guy with the binoculars -- a heavyset dude -- turned away and started to climb down from the platform. Daryl saw the silhouette of his head lower slowly; he noticed the guy had taken the binoculars with him. “Won’t be a minute.” 

Daryl heard the other guy grunt an answer and shift to a better position on his chair. He was visible from waist up over the fence. Daryl had to make a quick decision. Could he take the guy out with a bolt when it was this dark? What if the guy fell down and made noise? How long would the other dude be away? Had he seen him and left to get help?

This was the best place, though. There was a slightly more distance between the posts on the both sides than at the earlier posts. This was a precious moment with just the one guard, immobile, sitting down no less, increasing the chances of a silent kill.

It was not in Daryl’s nature to dilly-dally with pointless questions of this kind. You dither, you don’t catch much game. He took the crossbow, readied it, spent precious seconds on calming his pulse and breathing. There was no hesitation, no trembling hands or unsure eyes when Daryl aimed and squeezed the trigger. At this range, a bit over fifty yards, only a soft thud could be heard as the bolt went through the guard’s head. The guy jerked once, Daryl’s heart stopped -- would he fall off the chair and make a racket? -- and the dead guard started to glide downwards until Daryl couldn’t see much more of him than his head. He didn’t fall; there was no sound.

Less than a minute had passed since the other guy had left. No time to waste. Daryl sidled quietly through the small trees and sparse bushes. At the foot of the fence he started to drag himself up by whatever he could grasp. Snags, edges of metal plates -- the fences were made of wood and metal, basically whatever the Woodburyans had cobbled together. They kept the walkers out, most humans too, but they were no match against someone like Daryl.

He grabbed the edge of the fence and pulled himself over in one fluid movement. The knife at the ready, he dropped to a crouch and took in the platform. Just the dead guy and him. He slunk to the guy, removed the bolt, and pulled him up so that it looked like he was still just sitting there. Daryl took off his backpack and slid it behind the chair, took a firm hold of his crossbow, and tried to make himself as small as possible. The other guy was probably here any minute; he had to be taken down as well, otherwise he’d just raise the alarm when he’d notice his dead partner.

He heard the crunch of footsteps. Someone climbed up the ladder. A head appeared over the edge, then the rest of the sturdy body. Daryl couldn’t see anything else than a dark figure hesitating at the top of the ladder. The hunter forced his breathing to stay even; the guard staying so still made him nervous, made him expect a sudden holler for help. Why wasn’t the guy stepping on the platform already?

“Daryl? Daryl Dixon?” 

The soft whisper took the archer completely by surprise. What the hell was going on?

“Come on, I know you’re here. I saw you in the woods.”

Daryl got up, his crossbow cocked and loaded, aimed at the man.

“What the fuck is this? Who’re you?”

“Can I come up? You took care of him?” The figure jerked his head to the other guard.

“Real slow. Get it? Like _real_ slow. And yeah, he’s not an issue.”

The other man stepped on the platform and took a few cautious steps towards Daryl and the dead guard.

Impatient, Daryl continued their whispered conversation.

“Who the fuck are ya?”

“You don’t know me. Me, my sister and couple others stumbled into your prison, and for a while it looked like we could stay. Rick had a problem with us and threw us out.”

Daryl vaguely remembered Hershel tell about the episode. It had happened while he’d been gone with Merle. Rick had had a few bad moments there. Guilt surged through Daryl but he forced it away. No time for ancient stuff. 

The other man continued.

“I’ve heard of you. Merle’s little brother. ‘The archer’, they call you down here. Andrea told us about you, too. And after what’s been goin’ on, when I see a guy with a crossbow slinkin’ in the woods, checkin’ the fences, trying real hard not to be noticed, it ain’t that hard to do the math.”

Daryl still didn’t get it.

“You didn’t raise the alarm. Why?”

“Why would I? I ain’t no hero, I can’t stop whatever this is but this gotta stop, so maybe you guys can do it. Your Rick was a bit...wild, but the others were ok. We had to leave though, and it all seemed ok here at first, y’know, everythin’ in order. But then some stuff started to come up, and then the walkers and the attacks; the way the Gov talked about you it was like you were murderous animals. Me and Sasha, we knew different. Andrea didn’t say much but I saw her face when she listened to the Gov, it was like she couldn’t understand the words. And now the Gov is recruitin’ the whole town, everyone over 12 has to join the next attack, and honestly I don’t know what to do. Sasha’s ill, just a common flu but these days anythin’ can be serious, and we can’t get away with her in that condition. So, when I saw you, I figured…” His quiet whisper died down.

“You figured we’d do your dirty work.”

The guy didn’t even flinch at Daryl’s dry accusation.

“Honestly? Yeah. I can fight as well as the next guy but I ain’t a killer. Never killed a livin’ person, and the Governor isn’t the best practice target. It’d be like tryin’ to hug a rabid dog. The guy’s got nine lives and he’s ruthless. I’d just get myself killed and where would that leave Sasha? No, no. But if it’s really him you’re after, I can help, I can cover your gettin’ in, maybe even your gettin’ out. Our shift is still an hour -- if you can get it done in that time. I’ll just have to lose the body, tell ‘em he’d gone for a leak and never came back, or somethin’.”

Daryl didn’t believe in good luck. They rarely had it. But somehow, he found himself believing the big guy. Time to either trust your gut or not.

“‘k. Get rid of the body and then come back here asap. And stay low. I’m hopin’ this’ll go quietly but… yeah. You know where he is now?”

“Probably in his house. You know where it is? The big red building near the town square. His bedroom is on the second floor, back of the house, middle room.”

“Anybody else there?”

“Not sure. Could be. ‘s a big house. Andrea probably.”

Daryl nodded. He peered at his watch. He had maybe fifteen minutes left before the others started to go with plan B. He took a step towards the ladder, stopped, turned to the other guy.

“What’s your name?”

“Tyreese.”

Daryl started down the ladder.

“Hey, Daryl,” Tyreese whispered.

“What?” Time was running out; Daryl’s low voice was snappish.

“‘s not all bad people here, y’know… just… could you…”

“‘m after just him. As long as the others don’t get in my way, I got no beef with them.”

***

Five minutes later Daryl peered up the sturdy ivy on the Gov’s house and tried to figure out which was the bigger risk: climb up the ivy and risk someone hearing the rustling leaves -- he’d be a sitting duck there. However, the ivy would get him straight to the man’s bedroom. Or, he could go in a downstairs window, risk an alarm system, risk stumbling on someone inside; but if all went well, he wouldn’t have to climb anything, and it would be easier to fight if it came to that. The second option would be slower, though, and the climb would only take two minutes, if that. And time was fast becoming a serious issue.

Daryl pushed his backpack behind the ivy as best as he could, secured the crossbow on his back, put a knife between his teeth, and made sure the other knives were readily at hand as well. He went up the ivy like a squirrel -- years of hiking in woods, and not always on the easiest terrain, scaling trees and quarries and fences and sometimes the walls of your own home, trying to avoid your dad… let’s just say Daryl was well-prepared for something like this. The window to the bedroom was ajar; the Gov seemed to be a friend of fresh night air, which suited Daryl just fine -- he tried not to think how much this had increased the risk of having been overheard while climbing up, too late for that anyway. He listened carefully, heard nothing but a slight snore, and edged his fingers at the opening, reaching for the latch. He moved it cautiously, a tiny fraction of an inch at a time, slid it from the metal ring, never letting it go so that it wouldn’t connect with the window frame with even the lightest clunk. He’d probably make some noise getting in; no need to make more than was absolutely unavoidable.

He pulled himself up inch by inch, scanning the dark room as best as he could, listening to the slightest sound. The snore continued, steady and relaxed. Daryl flung his legs over the windowsill, carefully, like in slow motion. Knife ready, he tiptoed closer to the bed. The snore stuttered, someone moved in the bed. Daryl froze, held his breath -- he was still too far from the bed; if the Gov noticed him, it’d be touch and go whether Daryl could get him killed before the other man called for help.

The snore continued. Then there was movement in the bed again. Someone turned around; Daryl saw something blond and long stir on the pillow.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _Andrea_. 

Which meant the Gov was on the other side. Which meant he’d have to circle around the bed. Which meant the increase of risk. And also wasted more of the time he was already sorely lacking. It could be any minute now that the diversion plan would kick in, and that noise might wake up the Gov and Andrea at the worst possible moment.

Daryl didn’t stop for those thoughts; he was already halfway over.

He was almost there when his sharp ears discerned the sound of an accelerating vehicle approaching fast, the sound gaining volume by the fraction of a second, and sooner than it took him to process the sound, it was already loud, screeching, the motor working at maximum. The figures on the bed moved restlessly, the rare sound cutting through their sleep. The snore stuttered again.

 _Shit!_

He took the last steps like a flash, grabbed the head with his left hand, drove the knife through the temple with his right, pulled it out, and was blinded by a bedside lamp suddenly turned on, and then he was staring at Andrea, dazed with sleep, peering at the incomprehensible. 

Daryl went rigid. It’d been so fuckin’ close! And now he’d have to decide what to do with Andrea.

The fast-moving vehicle was circling Woodbury -- not getting closer, not getting farther either. It was speeding on the nearby highway, swerving wildly, by the sounds of it. The noise told a story of a panicked escape, and for a fleeting moment Daryl wondered what the Woodburyans were making of it.

Andrea was still trying to focus her eyes; Daryl was still just standing there, a bloody knife in his hand, staring back at her.

“Wha…”

Daryl sprang to action, leaned over the dead man, smashed his hand over Andrea’s mouth, and whispered an unequivocal “shut up!” 

Then the crash came. An eerie silence. Andrea blinked several times, trying to make sense of what was happening. Her eyes hit the knife, drifted down to the still figure by her side. Daryl still had his hand on her mouth. He watched her reactions carefully, anticipating an attempt at yelling or escaping or something. He didn’t expect to see Andrea deflate, loose all tension, close her eyes, and nod. Daryl drew his hand away slowly, and did not hesitate to bring his knife-hand closer. _No unnecessary mercy_ , Rick had said.

Andrea looked at him with sad, solemn eyes. She nodded again. 

“You need to go,” she said calmly.

Daryl wasted a precious second staring at her, confused. _What’s wrong with everyone today?_ Not that he minded, as long as everyone was wrong in this particular way, but still…

“Come with me,” he said, not knowing what else to do.

“No. You need to go, now. Hit me, ok?”

Daryl remembered what Merle had said about Andrea. The lady can keep her cool, no doubt about that.

And he hit her. Knocked unconscious; provided her with a cover story.

Screaming began. Cries for help. Sobs -- not that they carried very well from the distance, but the spectacle was so convincing, even Daryl was certain he heard them. Panicked, injured sobs. Cries from people so hurt and out of their minds, they’d forgotten that making noise wasn’t exactly a clever idea these days. Merle and Carol had insisted that a racket of that sort so near Woodbury would force them to go shut it down. They wouldn’t risk the noise carrying far and attracting a larger number of walkers.

Daryl sprinted to the window, shimmied down, picked up his backpack. People were starting to emerge from the nearby houses, drowsy after being woken up from deep sleep; they were all dressed up, however, ready for anything as people tended to be these days, even the regular Woodburyans after everything that had passed during the last few months. Daryl peaked around the corner; some guys were hasting towards the gates. He heard a stomp of footsteps inside, running up the stairs, yelling “Governor, wake up!”

That was Daryl’s cue for getting the hell outta Dodge.

He slank in the shadows, advancing towards the farthest corner of his escape route which apparently now meant Tyreese. The house he selected seemed vacant, some windows broken -- he prefered not to burn regular folk alive if he could avoid it.

 _Good ol’ Molotovs should do the trick._ He rummaged through his backpack, took out the well-padded bottles, and the next thing the Woodbury bats flitting around saw, were two comet-like bottles flying towards the empty house. 

By the time the cocktails hit the house and the first flames started to gain strength, Daryl was already far away, creeping along the alleys towards Tyreese’s post. Hoping the heavyset man was keeping his word. Daryl sure had kept his.

The screaming continued. Small cracks and bangs were heard -- like something was happening to the vehicle, catching fire perhaps. Daryl had no time to go check whether Woodbury fighters had taken the bait; he had no right to risk getting caught when the others were taking the risk of the diversion. The house behind him was already on fire; his friends would’ve seen the sign but they still couldn’t know if he was out or not. Dozens of fighters might be coming their way, as might any number of walkers.

Someone was yelling about the Governor but the men at the gate didn’t hear; the gates had opened, a few trucks were driving away. Daryl smirked at the sounds, and dared to speed up to jogging.

Woodbury people had also noticed the fire, and the ones who weren’t trotting towards the gate were running towards the fire. Someone turned around the corner to the alley where Daryl was running, and collided with him. The man had just enough time to glance at the hunter and breathe a confused “Who are…?” before Daryl’s elbow met with his forehead with a sharp crack. _He’d be down for the count long enough_ , Daryl thought, and kept going.

The screaming stopped. Instead, there were multiple bangs in the general area of the crash site, followed by gunshots. _The trap went off big time_ , he thought grimly. He really had to get out now, find Rick and the others and go help them. They’d had no way of recording the screams, so that had been Maggie and Carol there, now retreating as fast as they could, covered by Merle. The timers were going off all around that area, confusing the Woodburyans. Daryl had no way of knowing who’d been shooting at whom but there was no time to worry.

He arrived at Tyreese’s watch post. Since most people were either in the woods, wandering around the town square, or trying to put out the fire, he decided it was safe enough to check that everything’s ok before sticking his head up the ladder.

“Tyreese? You good?” he called.

“Yeah, I’m ok.” Tyreese’s bulk appeared on top of the ladder. “Any luck?”

“Luck ain’t got nothin’ to do with it,” Daryl grunted. “He’s down.” He started climbing.

Tyreese hesitated. “...Andrea? Or...others?”

“Andrea’s ok. One guy’s probably a bit worse for wear but he’s alive.”

“The fire?”

“Diversion. ‘s an empty house.” Daryl paused; if Tyreese was staying here, maybe he’d better know. “Andrea knows what I did. She told me to hit her and leave.”

Tyreese nodded, looking thoughtful.

“So now what?”

Daryl frowned at the question. His tone was unwavering and authoritative. “So now I leave and go help my people. You do whatever you want. Andrea might use some level-headed help, though. Just sayin’. We don’t wanna fight Woodbury. Ain’t enough people left against the walkers as it is. Try to smack some sense into the Governor’s henchmen. Take them out if necessary. If Andrea wants to have somethin’ to do with us later, she knows where to find us. She comes in peace, we’ll talk. You don’t attack us, we don’t attack you.”

He didn’t spare another look at the other man as he slipped over the fence and started to climb down. He was still frowning, this time at himself. He’d sounded…different. While he was feeling his way down the wall, he remembered how he’d thought about maybe being a changed man, back when they’d returned with Merle. Was he still changing? The Daryl from a year ago wouldn’t’ve spoken in that tone. Mightn’t have spoken at all.

  
  



	7. What Happens In The Woods, Stays In The Woods?

He tried to move as fast as he could, but it was still dark, the sun wouldn’t be rising in hours. He fumbled through the woods to the direction where he knew his family was and where the shots were coming from.

He’d walked for minutes and he knew he was getting nearer. He saw vague beams of torches, heard an occasional shot or a muffled cry. There were people getting hurt, and he only hoped they weren’t his people.

The punch came out of nowhere. There was no warning at all, he didn’t even realize what had happened; suddenly he just couldn’t breathe. He collapsed without a sound, and heard a sickening laughter. 

“Gotcha! D’you think you’d get away that easy?” The man kicked Daryl in the gut, in the same place he’d hit him with the butt of his rifle. 

Dots of white pain were dancing in Daryl’s eyes. He gasped for breath, and the man laughed again, and now Daryl heard other voices joining in the merriment. A torch was turned on him, the sudden angry light making him blink, making him blind.

“Oooh, look at the pretty boy… not such a Robin Hood now, are ya?” The mocking voice changed into an angry snarl. “Killed the Gov, did ya? Thought nobody saw you, right? Guess again!” 

Another kick. Daryl bit his lip, drawing blood. The pain was making it difficult to think straight. He rolled in exaggerated agony, just enough to have a look around, to count the men. Five. _That’s not good._ His crossbow had flown out of his hands, and he was in no condition to grab his knives and jump up to attack the men. If only he could get up… 

The men were cackling around him. “Good with a knife against a sleepin’ man. A regular hero, aren’t ya?” 

From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw one of the men raise a walkie-talkie to his mouth: “We got him. Watcha wanna do with him?” A cold voice -- not Andrea’s -- crackled a dismissive “Whatever you want. As long as he don’t breath after that.”

 _Fuck. How had we not thought of walkie-talkies?_ Now, instead of chasing after regular raiders, the Woodburyans were chasing the murderer of their leader. And caught him.

“Get him up.” The man with the walkie-talkie seemed to be the ringleader.

Two men seized Daryl’s arms and dragged him up. Daryl’s stomach was aching and he still had problems with breathing properly, but the shake of his legs and the downcast head were deliberate, there to mislead, to lull the men into thinking Daryl was weaker than he was. He was determined to bide his time, to catch the tiniest break the second it appeared.

The other men closed in on him. One of the guys holding him up grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. The torch was right in his eyes and he could barely see the smirking faces of the men. He could see the glinting knife only inches away from his face, though. The knife landed on his cheek, the blade pressed hard on his skin, the tip half an inch from his eye.

“One of you people cost him an eye. Would serve you right to lose yours before you lose _everything_.” 

The ringleader’s voice was a vicious snarl. Daryl knew for a fact that mercy wasn’t an option. Miracles didn’t just **_happen_**. He’d have to make his own miracles if he wanted to get out of this mess.

He stared back at the man, for a moment forgetting to play it meek and weak, beaten to submission. The man looked back, slid the knife left and right in tiny movements, bit his lower lip, obviously getting his kicks out of this. The one on his right laughed breathlessly, took a step closer. Daryl glanced at him, assessing the threat, and saw the man staring at him, eyes glinting, gaze wandering on Daryl’s mouth, down to the ripped, strained neckline of his shirt, and lingering on his bare arms.

For the first time, Daryl let worry seep in. He’d seen those looks Before, once, when some of Merle’s friends had been just a bit too drunk. Hell, _he’d_ been drunk as well; had dared to relax around the familiar guys -- shitheads, the lot of them, but familiar nonetheless, and he’d never imagined they’d present that particular kind of problem. But booze brings out all sorts of stuff, apparently, and Daryl had been cornered, pressed into the wall, held in place with iron fingers that left bruises for weeks. He’d listened to a seething tirade of contempt, loud slurs, _goddamn faggot, pretty boy prancing around, no shame, should learn his lesson, know what a real man feels like_. And he’d been just so befuddled, too drunk to realize the real danger, too hammered to put up enough of a fight against three guys high on their righteous anger, the fury mixing up with a lust they would’ve indignantly denied if sober.

Merle had come to the rescue then. Before or after, Daryl had never seen him so incensed.

He didn’t see those three guys again. Didn’t ask Merle what had happened. And his brother hadn’t mentioned the incident ever again. Like it never happened at all. 

Merle wouldn’t be coming this time. They were fighting somewhere, Daryl could still hear gunshots in the distance. They didn’t know he was here. 

Daryl tried not to let the worry gnawing at his belly muddle his thinking. He didn’t have the luxury for it, no time, no energy to waste. 

_Right. Ok._ Five men, two at his back, holding his arms. Three in front of him. A knife at his face. His crossbow somewhere there, behind the three men. They still hadn’t taken away his own knives -- he even had his sidearm, and frankly, he couldn’t think of a single valid reason why that was so. The men couldn’t be so unbelievably cocky? So sure that five against one guaranteed the result? Did they really think he was just a weakling, a coward, only suitable for nightly assassinations, yielding in front of these overwhelming odds? The only time they might’ve seen him was on the arena with Merle. Mightn’t have given them the full idea of what Daryl Dixon was capable of.

“No reason we can’t play with him before we waste him?” The man on the left with the torch snickered. “Serves him right. Merle always said his hotheaded li’l brother was too stubborn for his own good. Don’t know about you guys but I’d sure like to see the stubborness shattered to pieces. Whaddya say we make this li’l butcher _beg_..?”

 _Look who’s talking,_ Daryl thought frantically, plans and calculations twirling around in his brain, looking for an angle that could get him out of this fucking mess. _Look who’s talkin’ about butchers when they’ve attacked us TWICE, with walkers and midnight raiders. Guess it’s butcherin’ only when it succeeds…_

The man with the knife nodded once, as if to himself. He lowered the knife, dragging it slowly down Daryl’s face, throat, chest, all the way down to his crotch, rubbing the blade against Daryl’s jeans, over his balls, between his legs. The look on his eyes had nothing to do with lust -- it was hunger for total subjugation. Daryl flicked his eyes to the other two men. They were a different story. They had the air of putrid lust -- they would be the tools for the subjugation. 

His brain was humming with activity, looking for a way out. 

Resolutely, he did not think of Rick. Or the brief time they’d been together. Or that it might forever stay that way -- brief. He did not think of where the knife pressed painfully, or of the intrusive eyes of the men, or what those looks meant. He did not sacrifice precious mental energy to panicking about what it would mean to him when the two men would be let loose, free to unleash their twisted fantasies. 

He damped it all down because none of it would help him now. Thinking of Rick would only mess up his mind with regret. Thinking of the men and how they’d break his body, try to break his soul… Well. If it got that far, he’d be dead anyway. He’d fight so hard they’d be forced to kill him.

As Rick had said: failure was not an option. And since it wasn’t, there was no point in thinking about it.

Every second that passed gave Daryl some of his strength back. He tried not to let it show, his body was lax and slumped. If only the knife left his body for even a second…

But it didn’t.

Like a caress from a homicidal lover, the blade skimmed his body, stopping just below his ribs. The man twisted the knife, pressing the tip firmly against him.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” the man purred. “Although, considering how this’ll end, be my guest. Move however much you want. You’ll live long enough to give my friends here their fun anyhow. Work hard, play hard, y’know.”

The other men were right there. Daryl braced himself. _He’d need just one second._ Whatever the guys were planning to do to him, he couldn’t afford to lose sight of that.

“You think you’re real macho, don’t you, with your kickass crossbow and your Rambo outfit. What, sleeves got out of fashion?” The guy with the torch moved the light slowly across Daryl’s body. 

The other man let out a low whistle. “But ain’t he pretty, though? No wonder you prefer to go with the sleeveless look. Just itchin’ to be admired, aren’t ya?” The man raised his hand and coasted his fingertips along Daryl’s biceps. “Nice,” he said in a low voice, and his touch changed to a painful grip. “Very nice.”

Daryl concentrated on breathing evenly. Everything in him rebeled against the touch. The vice-like hold of the two men behind him. The disgusting clutch of the -- Daryl didn’t want to think of him as a ‘man’, _that ain’t no_ **_man_** _, that’s vermin, and-_

He felt like throwing up, but that was one of the luxuries he couldn’t afford. Not with a knife punching through his clothes. _Just one second._

The leader looked at the two guys. “Do what you want but get started already. There’s more of them out there.” He turned back to Daryl. “Your brother is there too, I hear. That’s nice. We’ll collect the whole set, ain’t that right, guys?”

The guy with the torch shifted the light to his left hand. He smiled, and the awful thing was it was kind of a nice smile, as smiles go -- lips, teeth, shape of mouth. At the same time Daryl knew that one would be the worst of them all. Worse than the leader who was just another cold and calculating bastard. Worse than the guy who was fondling his arm and shoulder and sticking his invading fingers under his top. That one -- your run-of-the-mill pervert and rapist. But the third guy, he was the charming wingman, whose nice smile was a bottomless pit of nothing. He would take his time, enjoy every scratch and cut he’d cause Daryl -- he’d love using force, tearing Daryl apart. He was the kind who meditates by ripping the wings off butterflies.

Daryl couldn’t help it. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of taking away their prize, and just fall on the knife. He was a hunter, he knew exactly which way to twist himself, how hard to plunge, to make it go straight to his heart.

The wingman was still smiling. “That’s right, boss,” he said, and stepped even closer, and there was nothing Daryl could do, they were still gripping his hair, he couldn’t even headbutt the guy. Then something in the guy’s body language prepared him for pain. 

“Dicks in Dixons, right? Poetic, really.” And smiling that empty smile the man grabbed at Daryl’s crotch, squeezing, kneading hard, and fuck it **_hurt_** , the pain bringing tears into Daryl’s eyes, and- 

“Oh look, he’s crying! Tears of happiness, probably, I have magic hands, I know,” the goddamned rat said with a toothy grin. He leaned towards Daryl, still mauling his crotch, and the archer hadn’t known this could hurt so fucking much, and for the first time he was scared, the pain made his head swim, and the fucking bastard bit his earlobe and whispered, “I’m gonna enjoy breaking you.”

Daryl’s eyes weren’t focusing properly, surely, it was the only explanation for the leader having suddenly grown a horn on his forehead. Then his eyes cleared, and the man in front of him hadn’t abruptly turned into a unicorn -- instead, he was sliding down, head split in two, knife falling on the ground.

Daryl was looking at an enraged Michonne in the eye. 

And there was his one second. It took exactly one second to whip his knife and sink it into the throat of the _fucking sicko bastard fuck fuckfuck!!!!!_ \--

He stood there, panting, red flames going down, receding, and he saw Rick like he’d never seen him before. Cold, unfeeling, ending three lives like he would’ve swatted mosquitos.

When it was over, Daryl looked at the others. The way Michonne looked, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of her nostrils, like some cartoon bull. Rick, on the other hand, was cleaning his knife almost absent-mindedly. The torch was on the ground, pointing upwards, and Daryl saw Rick’s eyes, hazed and unseeing. He’d last seen him like that on the day Lori had died.

It hurt to walk but Daryl had to take the few steps to get close to Rick.

“Hey,” he said, cautiously touching Rick’s arm. “Thanks, man.” He turned to look at Michonne. “Thanks,” he said again. He didn’t know what else to say. What words would be enough to thank someone for what they’d just done for him?

Michonne understood. She nodded, and turned to wipe her katana on the shirts of the dead men. That’s all they were good for: rags. 

He looked back at Rick who was still staring at nothing. 

“I could’ve been too late,” he said, voice shaking.

“But you weren’t, and that’s all that counts.” Daryl wished his own voice had been steadier. _It’s probably shock or something_ , he thought vaguely, _but who has time for that shit?_ He could still hear shots nearby; there were still his people out there, fighting. 

Rick looked at him. “I could’ve lost you.” He put his hands on Daryl’s shoulders, glided his hands over his arms, his chest. Doing what Rick does: reassuring himself that someone he loved was there, intact, alive. “They could’ve…” 

“But they didn’t,” and this time Daryl’s voice was firm. “They didn’t, and now they won’t do that ever again to anyone. It stopped right here.”

“Are you hurt?” Rick looked him straight in the eye, demanding an honest answer.

For a moment Daryl battled with himself. The ‘Daryl Dixon’ wanted to scoff and flex his muscles and dismiss it all with _pfft, nah, had worse_. Probably true, even; purely physically speaking he’d been hurt worse.

But the ‘Just Daryl’ -- Rick’s friend, Rick’s...lover -- wanted to try to be truthful. Not easy to say it with Michonne within earshot but... “Yeah.”

Rick took a small step closer, kept brushing his arms gently, but didn’t crowd him, didn’t try to draw him in his arms. He understood that Daryl needed space now, and Daryl loved him even more for it.

“Yeah,” he said again, trying to find words. “They...kicked me some. Tried to mess with my head. One of them,” Daryl noticed his hands were curled in tight fists, “was...he...touched my...hurt…” and it wasn’t even embarrassing, the way he couldn’t voice what had happened, because Rick was there and he had nothing but compassion, and love, and rage in his eyes. It was a weird mix but even the rage felt good, to see how angry Rick was for his sake. 

“Not the first time.” He kept going, almost conversationally. Rick’s eyebrows shot to high heaven, and Daryl heard a shocked gasp behind him, from Michonne. “When I was younger. Some friends of Merle’s. They thought I’s a queer and wanted to give me a lesson. The same kind of lesson,” Daryl jerked his head towards the bodies. “Merle arrived in time and took real good care of them. Don’t really know what he did but never saw them again. I guess that sort of people just keep crawling from under rocks, apocalypse or no apocalypse.”

Rick looked and looked at him, his hands on Daryl’s shoulders. “Okay if I hug you?”

Daryl nodded.

They didn’t have time for more than a brief little hug but it made all the difference. Daryl felt more like his normal self when he went to pick up his crossbow and rid the bodies of their guns.

“What’s the situation?”

Michonne took the torch from Rick and checked her watch. “Huh. It’s only been ten minutes. Ok, the last we saw was the plan was going as, well, planned. We’re retreating, taking down anyone who keeps following us. It was a crazy fluke that we happened to be here just now.” She paused, trying not to think what would’ve happened without the fluke. “But Rick wanted to swing by, a bit closer to the direction you’d gone. Just in case, y’know, you were on your way back. ‘cause we saw the fire.” Michonne glanced at Daryl. “It was your fire, right?”

“Yeah. That’s actually why those guys were so goddamned pissed off.”

Rick frowned. “They knew he was dead? So soon after the fire?”

Daryl held his hand to Michonne. “Gimme that.” Michonne handed him the torch. Daryl walked back to the bodies, turned the leader over on his back with his foot. He crouched, and when he stood up again, he had a walkie-talkie on his palm.

Rick stared at it. “Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He hesitated. “We didn’t think of everythin’. We tried, I know, but this we forgot. That not all technology’s down. It seems someone saw me -- could’ve been the guy who ran into me when I was leavin’, and that’ll be the last time I’m ever gonna spare someone’s life like that, learned my lesson now… anyhow, that’s how these guys heard of it. Heard of me.”

Michonne was listening to Daryl with one ear, to the sounds of fighting with the other.

“Guys, can we talk more when we’re back at home? We should--” She went silent. “Listen.”

There it was, the unmistakable growl of the undead fuckers.

“Time to go.” Daryl crammed the dead mens’ guns into his backpack, put it on, and started to lead the trio towards their meeting place. The growls were coming from their left; Daryl estimated they’d have time to get away from under the walkers. He tried to walk as fast as he could, but certain bodyparts were still aching too much. He felt Rick’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Daryl, we can take this slower, y’know. You’re hurtin’. You go talk with Hershel when we get back, you hear me?”

Daryl swallowed down an indignant “no!” and changed it into a low grunt. It was as close as he could get to admitting that Rick was right.

***

The others were already waiting for them, antsy to get going before either the walkers or the remaining Woodburyans would stumble upon them. Carol’s eyes lit up from sheer relief when she saw that Daryl was safely back, Glenn slapped him on the back, and Merle gave him a satisfied nod. Maggie sat in the truck, tapping nervously on the wheel. 

On the way back they didn’t talk much. Adrenaline was still running wild; they were deep inside their heads, going through what had passed during the last few hours. Successes, mistakes, good luck, things overlooked. Daryl had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last fight they’d have. The world had had wars and squabbles Before -- there was no reason to assume things would be different After. People were still the same.

Carl opened the gate for them, eyes wide and vulnerable, the gulf between the relief and the earlier worry too vast for happiness. That would come later. 

Glenn jumped off the truck. “I’ll take the watch. You go in with them.” 

Carl climbed in, sat beside Daryl, and without a word turned to hug the archer. Carl’s arms squeezed tight and Daryl’s midriff was still sore from the punches and kicks, but he didn’t care, he hugged Carl right back. He felt Rick's eyes on him; the other man had a soft smile on his face, watching his lover and his son bond. Carl’s face was pressed on Daryl’s shoulder; before he let go of the hunter, he quickly wiped his eyes, then looked at his father on the other side of the truck.

“Dad…” Voice hoarse, Carl didn’t quite know how to go on.

“Yeah, son. ‘s ok. We’re back, all of us. It’s over.”

Daryl knew it wasn’t over, not really, not ever. But maybe the worst of it was, at least for now. And Carl needed to hear that from his dad, with Rick’s calm officer-voice.

Everybody was up when they entered their cell block, including Judith who was having her early-morning snack. Another round of hugs seemed the thing to do; Carol started to make some tea. Sleep was out of the question.

Daryl sat on the stairs; there, he got a vantage point where he could see his entire family in one glance. He needed that. A counterbalance to the adrenaline and energy drain that was hitting him hard. He watched his brother mosey towards Beth and the baby; Carol saw it, of course, but things had changed indeed, she didn’t feel the need to stop him, Merle presented no danger to any of them any more. They’d never be friends -- but probably against all his instincts he had given them a chance and they’d grown on him, like they’d grown on Daryl. Merle held out his hand, unaccustomed to touching something so small and fragile, and brushed Judith’s cheek. Just a brush -- then he drew back, embarrassed, and everybody except Beth conspicuously looked away. Beth, true to her nature, gave Merle a warm smile and pat the bench beside her, inviting him to sit.

_Shared danger makes strange benchfellows._

Everyone had a story to tell, of course, and they were all curious. Dead tired, but they wanted to talk and to listen, getting closure. Daryl told about Tyreese and Andrea, about the man he’d knocked down, about what the diversion had felt like in the town, about the fire, about getting caught and Rick and Michonne saving him. He didn’t give details about the Governor’s death -- _his first murder_ \-- and nothing on earth would’ve made him tell about the five men in the woods. Hershel, maybe, to give some explanation for seeking treatment. But not to everyone, not like this.

He wasn’t nervous about Rick and Michonne’s version. They’d never tell anyone unless Daryl’d give them an express permission.

The sun was up when they stopped swapping stories. Daryl was bone-tired and aching and he had a bad feeling about getting any sleep. Mainly because he didn’t **_want_ ** to sleep. The ‘Daryl Dixon’ in him was shaking his head, grumbling _who’s got time for this crap anyways?_ The ‘Just Daryl’ had spent a year with these people, who all seemed hell-bent on **_talking_ ** about stuff, unembarrassed, like it was frickin’ **_normal_ **to have nightmares and be jumpy after bad stuff. Like it wasn’t about being broken and defective or some shit. 

It would never come easily to Daryl, he knew it, but something **_had_ ** rubbed on him during these long months together, facing every godawful traumatizing crap imaginable and **_surviving_**. Mostly sane. Together. So. Maybe he wasn’t **_weak_ ** ‘cause he didn’t want to sleep just yet. Maybe he wasn’t **_broken_ ** just because he felt breakable after what happened in the woods. Maybe it was fuckin’ **_normal_ ** to feel a bit bad after playing the role of the executioner for the Prison Jury, killing a man not in the thick of a fight but in cold blood. Self-defense, yes, but rather a premeditated self-defense at that. He didn’t feel overly bad about it, but on top of the other stuff… yeah. He run his fingers through his hair. It was getting longer. _Don’t matter._

Hershel was limping towards him. 

“Rick told me you were hurt in the woods. Let’s go to my cell and have a look at it before you go to bed, ok?”

Daryl glanced at Rick. The man had his eyes on the archer, looking at him steadily, sending a message. _Let him help you._

The hunter turned his gaze back to Hershel and made a small gesture, a kind of mix of a shrug and a nod. _Best get this over and done with._

Hershel was used to Daryl’s non-speech, and turned to lead the way to his cell which was also the unofficial doctor’s office.

Daryl pulled the curtain over the doorway. Hershel sat on the chair and looked at him expectantly.

“So, what’s the problem, son?”

A surge of nervous energy rattled through Daryl. _How’s he supposed to tell about it?_ He paced back and forth in the cell, glanced at Hershel and saw his kind eyes. A guy his age, probably nothin’ much he ain’t seen and heard already. Daryl took a deep breath.

“Got punched with a rifle in the gut. Kicked too a few times.”

“Alright, sit down on that chair and take off your shirt.”

Daryl didn’t feel too comfortable with it but it wasn’t the first time Hershel had had to patch him up.

“The people who kicked you obviously meant business,” Hershel said after a pause, having brushed and prodded Daryl’s stomach and ribs, and cleaned the puncture wound the knife had caused. Nothing much, just a tiny thing, but these days it wasn’t a good idea to invite infection.

Daryl grunted. _What’s he supposed to say to something like that, anyway?_

“Now that’s been taken care of, would you care to share what’s really on your mind?”

Daryl looked up to the old man and took another deep breath. He had no idea how to go about this.

“Them guys...kicking’s not the only thin’ they did. They were real angry ‘cause of the Guv. They, umm...they...y’know when you’re kicked in the nuts it hurts like hell but is it dangerous?” The words rushed out of his mouth.

“They kicked you in the groin?” Hershel asked, frowning.

_What if he just said yes? It’d be over then._

“Not really. More like...crushed.”

Hershel kept frowning, puzzled. “With what?”

Daryl looked down.

“A hand. The guy who did it...kinda liked to...touch. And not in a...nice way.”

The old man stayed silent for a moment. Daryl rolled his shoulders and glanced up. Hershel was looking at him thoughtfully.

“I see.” Hershel scratched his beard. “Did anything else happen?”

“No. Rick and Michonne came and that was the end of it.”

“And of them as well, I presume.”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Daryl, we don’t have the equipment for an examination, so I’d just have to say we let the nature take its course. I’m sorry I can’t help you with that. But, Daryl, take an old man’s advice and talk about what happened with someone. You can talk with me if you want.”

Daryl looked at him for a long time, chewing on his lower lip. Finally, he rose up.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

And meant it.

  
  



	8. The Past And The Future

They took naps in shifts during the day. Woodbury wouldn’t retaliate, probably, but they didn’t know who was in charge now, or who had been the guy who’d ordered Daryl’s death on the walkie-talkie, or what had happened to Andrea. They didn’t know anything and they’d just have to be on their toes for a while.

During his allotted naptime Daryl had switched off like a lamp. No dreams, no nightmares, no nothing. He woke up in the late afternoon and kept himself busy with guard shifts, checking his snares, tinkering with his bike. 

When he went to bed -- Rick’s bed -- the other man still had an hour or so left of his shift. Daryl undressed slowly, still sore from earlier. He climbed in the bed, settled under Rick’s blanket, and was promptly lost in his thoughts.

The ‘Daryl Dixon’ was loudmouthed, sarcastic and cold. It nagged about the fear he’d felt, about the memories of the earlier incident, about Daryl considering to take Hershel up on his offer. It had his dad’s voice, Merle’s voice, the voice of his past.

The ‘Just Daryl’ was glowering at the other one. _The fuck’s your problem, dude? Shit happens, it’s normal to feel like crap for a while._

Daryl blinked. Would this affect how Rick sees him now? As a weak pushover who can’t even keep other people’s hands off his junk? He’d not been careful, not alert enough, he’d not thought of walkie-talkies, a stupid oversight, and is he really itchin’ to be admired, come on, what’s with his clothes anyway? Did he invite this whole thing on himself?

_I didn’t deserve it._

He had whispered it out loud, his mind fighting against selfrecrimination and accusation and ridicule. He could’ve understood if they’d just wanted to kill him. Wouldn’t’ve liked it, obviously, but would’ve understood it. Old-school justice -- a life for a life, y’know. But what they did… He didn’t deserve it, nobody ever did.

He wasn’t no pushover, either. He’d needed help, and his family had been there for him. He’d saved Rick’s ass plenty of times, and he didn’t think Rick helpless or weak because of that. 

They’d all made a mistake, not thinking about walkie-talkies. Should’ve would’ve could’ve, but didn’t. It happens. Learn from it, and move on.

And fuck the clothes. He put on whatever he wanted to, and if that was a problem for some sick scumbags, that wasn’t his fault either. _Can’t be responsible for someone else’s twisted fantasies._ He liked to keep his arms free; easier to move, easier to use the crossbow, lighter in every way. He sure as hell wasn’t doing it in the hopes that some predator would assault him! What the fuck was wrong with some people!

_I didn’t deserve it._

Daryl thought about talking about this. Wasn’t really sure it’d be his thing… true, it had become easier, somewhat, but this stuff? He could barely think it -- how was he supposed to get the words out of his mouth? He decided to wait, see how this goes. He didn’t have to make any decision on that just yet.

He felt better now, anyway. More at peace with the last 24 hours. There were things that were on him, and things that weren’t. For the first time in a long time -- hell, maybe ever -- he didn’t put everything on himself. Didn’t blame himself for every possible thing that went wrong. He knew it was wrong to always find blame in others, but he’d never really grasped before that it was just as wrong to always find the blame in yourself.

Daryl chuckled. _And I thought I was pretty zen a year ago. Goddamnit, I’m a fuckin’ zenmaster by next week, the rate I’m goin’._

He must’ve dozed off for a moment. He woke up feeling Rick’s warm body move next to him, laying down by his side.

“Rick?”

“Sorry, didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“‘s alright. Everythin’ ok out there?”

“Yeah. A few walkers here and there, nothin’ special.”

Rick fell silent.

“Okay if I hug you now?”

Daryl was wide awake in a second. 

“You ain’t gotta ask. You ain’t _never_ gotta ask.” Pause. “You ain’t them.”

He put his hand on Rick’s shoulder and pulled him closer. They wrapped their arms around each other, content to be silent together. Rick’s bare skin felt like home under Daryl’s hands.

After a while, Daryl pulled back to look in the other man’s eyes. 

“You ain’t them.” Daryl’s voice was gruff and firm. “I know the difference.”

***

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Wasn’t your fault.”

“Didn’t think of communication devices, did I? Sent you there alone. Could’ve come looking for you sooner.”

Daryl shook his head.

“Nah. The plan was ok. I should’ve paid more attention in the woods. Those guys, they had a reason to be pissed off, I get that part.”

Rick interrupted him, angry.

“What they did...we heard some of it, we had to take our time and wait for the right moment… they wouldn’t’ve just killed you, they… they had no right…”

“No, they didn’t. What they did ain’t your fault. Ain’t mine either. Just theirs.” Daryl turned on his back, still holding Rick, drawing him flush against him. Rick put his head on Daryl’s shoulder and run his hand lightly over the hunter’s torso, settling on his chest.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Belly’s a bitch. Hershel said it’ll be a few days. Gonna get colorful, too.”

“What about…?”

“Not really. I’m hopin’ it’s a good sign.”

Rick skimmed his fingers on Daryl’s skin, up over his throat and jaw, buried them in Daryl’s messy hair, pulled his head closer. The kiss was hesitant, just lips brushing lips, warm and loving. 

Daryl touched the seam of Rick’s lips with his tongue; the other man granted him access eagerly. The kisses grew more intense, and both men surrendered to the heat, letting go of the past 24 hours, of the tension, the doubts, the fear, the overthinking. It was just the two of them. _Together, like a goddamn force of nature._ Thoughts were flickering on and off in Daryl’s mind. His mouth was hungrily moving along Rick’s throat, licking and nipping its way to his chest. He stopped there, rested his head on Rick, heard the excited rhythm of Rick’s heart, and chuckled in a low voice.

“What?” Rick’s voice just a bit breathless.

Daryl raised his head and looked at the other man, face amused and relieved at the same time.

“Gonna show you,” he said. He took Rick’s hand and guided it down to his crotch. “We’re back in business.”

Rick’s hand landed on Daryl’s dick, half-hard and responsive to his touch. Gingerly, Rick glided his hand back and forth, feeling the reactions through the thin fabric of Daryl’s boxers. He heard Daryl’s breath stutter. “Fuck that feels good.”

“Want me to go on?”

“Fuck yes! Just...careful, alright?”

“I’m gonna take these off, ok?” Rick rose and sat on his knees, helping Daryl out of his underwear and taking his off as well. He lifted Daryl’s t-shirt tentatively. “You wanna keep this on?”

Daryl hesitated a fraction of a second, sat up and took the shirt off and lay down again. Rick let his gaze drift all over the hunter’s naked body.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that,” he said, voice deep and hoarse from want. Then his anger flared all of a sudden, when his eyes stopped at the bruises on Daryl’s stomach, the bandage over the puncture wound. He felt vicious satisfaction thinking Daryl got to put the worst offender down himself, with his own hands. _Justice, that’s what it was._ There was no compassion. He had more towards leeches or cockroaches. _Hell, those fuckers are just doing what nature tells them to; they have their own meaning in the grand scheme of things. Those assholes, though… they serve no purpose on this earth._ Rick felt zero remorse for having ended them. _Everybody’s better off this way._

Daryl quirked the corner of his mouth into a quick half-smile. “Don’t see it myself but ‘m glad you like it.”

Rick put the angry thoughts away and caressed his lover from thighs to shoulders, lowered himself down to feel his skin against his own, careful not to weigh the other man down too much, not to put pressure on his battered stomach. He moved back downwards, lightly kissing him all over; he wanted to give him new touch sensations to replace the ugly ones from his memory.

When Rick reached Daryl’s dick, it was already hard as a rock, and the man was trembling, hips giving tiny jerks. He gave the head a friendly lick, and got a very satisfying moan of pleasure in return. He wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s hardness and gave a tentative tug. Another moan. He smiled and lowered his head, licked the sensitive head again, then took it in his mouth and sucked gently. He took his hand off and settled it on Daryl’s thigh instead. He sucked as much of Daryl inside his mouth as he could, rubbed the thick vein with his tongue, and felt Daryl shiver uncontrollably. He wanted to make Daryl feel good, and do it in the gentlest way possible, and this felt like the correct way to go about it. Mouth full of the rock-hard, velvet-soft cock, Rick smiled and hummed. Daryl’s hips were twitching and Rick didn’t mind, the idea of Daryl fucking his mouth was hot enough to make his own cock leak precum… but he’d take care of that later, this was about Daryl now.

Rick loved every minute of it. The feeling of Daryl’s hard cock heavy on his tongue. The taste of precum. The quiet moans and whimpers the archer tried so hard to damp down, biting the side of his hand. The hips jerking, evoking all sorts of visions about other kind of _possibilities_.

Daryl gripped Rick’s hair. “Rick…”

The older man took Daryl’s cock in his hand and sucked on the head. Daryl came with a low growl, body shuddering. Rick licked him clean and stroke his thighs and hips slowly and soothingly. Daryl’s muscles relaxed; for a few heartbeats nothing happened.

Daryl still had his fingers tangled in Rick’s hair. He pulled lightly. “Come here.”

Rick crawled up to kiss him. Their kisses were leisurely and exploring.

“Can taste myself in your mouth. Fuck, that’s hot,” Daryl purred. His hand traveled downwards; Rick’s cock twitched like crazy, trying to reach the approaching hand. Down and down the hand glided with curled fingers and scraping nails. Rick whimpered in Daryl’s mouth.

“Want me to touch you?” Daryl asked gruffly.

“Fuck yes, touch me,” Rick panted, raising his pelvis slightly. “Please.”

Daryl let out a guttural sound, low and wild, and attacked Rick’s neck, scraped with his teeth, sucked and licked. His hand gripped the other man’s touch-starved, leaking cock and pumped, up and down and up, a few times. He lowered his hand, let his fingers roam on Rick’s balls. He raised his head and looked into Rick’s eyes.

“Wanna taste ya. That ok with ya?”

Rick’s answer was a turned-on grunt, “Mmhm.”

Daryl crawled backwards and settled between Rick’s legs, but when he bent down to kiss the tip of Rick’s cock, it was too much for the battered stomach. A low rumble of dissatisfaction came out of his mouth. Rick frowned, then got the problem.

“Wait,” he said. “Let’s try this.”

He stood up and guided Daryl to sit on the edge of the bed. Rick turned towards the archer and supported himself on the top bunk. He looked down just in time to see Daryl take his cock in his hand, gather a drop of precum on his thumb and spread it down along the thick vein. The man licked the tip experimentally, kissed it, twirled his tongue around it, run his tongue down to the root and back, took the head in his mouth, and a soft, pleased groan vibrated on Rick’s cock. 

Rick swallowed. To feel Daryl like this, to _see_ him like this... in front of him, taking in his cock, one hand gripping his hip so hard it’d leave bruises, the other still pumping, no, letting go, sliding his fingers further down on Rick’s balls… 

The ex-deputy wondered how long he’d last -- the sensation, the _view_ , was too enticing. In spite of Daryl’s position, there was no doubt who was in charge of the situation -- a heady experience for Rick. His thighs trembled, his loins were on fire; he moaned, too loud in the silent cell block but he could’t stop it, the pleasure was too intense. He raised his other leg on the bed to get more support, and maybe for other reasons as well, reasons he wasn’t capable of analyzing with lust clouding his mind.

Rick threaded his fingers in Daryl’s hair. The younger man was teasing the slit with his tongue; Rick’s hold on his hair turned to a tight grip and he gave a stuttering groan. The hunter chuckled, a low, uncharacteristically self-confident rumble, which did all sorts of things to Rick -- turned him on even more if possible.

“Like this?” Daryl’s question was light, flirting even, and it came to Rick all of a sudden, clear as day, that Daryl needed this, the sense of control, of being in charge of this particular kind of situation. Rick let his fingers loosen up a bit, rubbed Daryl’s scalp gently, struggled with a surge of love for this man, and couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t realized it way sooner. He happily gave the power to Daryl -- it didn’t lessen his pleasure, _oh god it_ **_so_ ** _didn’t!_ , and it was probably healing for the archer.

“Love your mouth on me.” The husky sound of his voice surprised Rick himself, and Daryl’s fingers dug even deeper into Rick’s hip, and the pain triggered a whine, and Rick’s cock jumped. Daryl chuckled again; he licked his way to the root, further down to Rick’s balls, sucked on the skin tentatively at first, then, encouraged by the happy whimper, took more and more into his mouth.

“Fuck, Daryl… I won’t last long…”

Another chuckle; it resonated and vibrated through Rick’s testicles and all around him. Daryl straightened himself and looked up. Their gazed locked, Daryl’s one hand still gripping Rick’s hip, the other one slowly caressing the underside of Rick’s thigh, back and forth, and his fingers kept brushing Rick’s buttock, somehow venturing closer and closer to-- 

Rick swallowed again. Daryl’s eyes were fiery, and he’d never seen anything so wild and beautiful as this man with his shaggy hair, alert, burning eyes, and kissable lips. The hunter brought the adventurous hand to his mouth and sucked in the middle finger. Sucked it thoroughly, wetting it carefully, all the while eyes boring into Rick’s. The ex-deputy shivered, the hand grasping the top bunk for support gripping the edge like a lifeline.

Finally Daryl lowered his gaze. He let go of Rick’s hips, curled his fingers around Rick’s twitching and leaking cock, put his mouth on the tip, and sucked and pumped, leisurely, taking his time, enjoying. The other hand traveled back on the underside of Rick’s thigh. _Fuck, can anticipation actually kill?_ Rick thought, delirious, heart beating like crazy. Daryl’s fingers weren’t hesitant at all, they found their target, and Rick gasped, his leg buckled, when the wet fingertip brushed over his tight, puckered hole.

The sensations were overwhelming. Daryl’s hand and mouth on his cock, his finger gentle but relentless against his hole, brushing, brushing, _pressing_. Rick’s fingers were tangled in Daryl’s hair, tight; his other hand, white-knuckled, gripping the edge of the top bunk. Both hands holding on for dear life, trying to keep him from collapsing from pleasure.

The muscle yielded under the insistent finger. _Daryl was in him_ , Rick’s mind tried to grasp the concept. The intimacy of it was overpowering -- Rick wanted to feel more of it. All of it.

Daryl sank deeper. His mouth worked on Rick’s cock and the man was too far gone to pay much attention to the burn and unfamiliar discomfort. The idea of Daryl’s finger in his ass was making his head spin; his channel accepted the intrusion, and Rick thought he’d lose his mind when he felt Daryl’s finger retreat, push back, and start to fuck him, slow and unrelenting. Everything intensified hundredfold as the pad of Daryl’s finger brushed over a bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves everywhere. Rick couldn’t help but let out a small, startled cry; his hips snapped forcefully, drove his dick deep into the hunter’s mouth. 

Daryl pulled his head back, coughed once, looked up, saw Rick staring back at him, mouth slack. Under his hands, Rick’s body was shuddering, precum dripping constantly and his channel clenching and unclenching as Daryl kept fucking him, rubbing on his prostate. Daryl felt a smirk rise on his face, corners of his lips quirk up in a small, victorious little smile. **_He_ ** _made this happen to Rick,_ **_he_ ** _made the cool, collected leader lose his composure like this._ He pumped Rick’s cock with his hand, rubbed on the small nub inside of him, and heard Rick breath an uncontrolled string of _ohgodohfuck_. He closed his lips around the head, sucked once, and Rick whimpered and came, his channel convulsing, hot and tight, and Daryl’s mind blacked out just a little as he imagined how that would feel on his cock. The taste of Rick filled his mouth, fired his taste buds. He swallowed and swallowed, moved his hand on Rick’s hip to help him stay standing, the other man’s legs trembling and boneless after the orgasm. He carefully withdraw his finger out of Rick’s body; the tight hole was trying to keep him inside, and _wasn’t that a thought to blow your fuckin’ mind!_

He helped Rick crawl back in the bed. They lay there facing each other, waiting to catch their breath, hands lazily brushing waists, arms, shoulders. Daryl had a second to think. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about himself just now. Being so… active. _Was it good? Was it ok for Rick?_

But Rick had said he’d tell Daryl if the archer did something that was uncomfortable to Rick. He’d promised. And Daryl either believes him or not, so which is it? Rick hadn’t said anything, he’d seemed to really like what Daryl had done to him.

And _Daryl_ had liked it. He’d _liked_ himself like that -- making things happen, being an active partner _inside_ the cell as well as outside of it. 

“That was incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.”

“Yeah?” His tone was a mixture of disbelief and pride.

“Yeah. _You’re_ incredible.” Rick’s hand was cupping his jaw, brushing his cheek with his thumb, so gentle and soft. “And I love you.”

Daryl’s heart gave a curious little jump. _Would there be a time when I’ve grown so used to hearing this, to_ **_knowing_ ** _this, that I’d hardly pay attention to the words? Perhaps, but it fuckin’ ain’t gonna be this day._ It felt just as fresh and miraculous and amazing as the first time.

“Love you too.” It felt amazing to say it, too. To be _allowed_ to voice it. He’d been surprised to learn how easy it was to say once you got it out the first time. 

Rick leaned in to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

“Let’s try get some sleep, ok?”

***

Morning came too soon. Especially as it came with Glenn barging in the cell and yelping “Good God, I don’t learn, do I?” and backtracking swiftly outside the heavy curtain.

Ok, so the blankets had fallen down and there was probably way too much skin and hands and bodyparts visible here and there _but Glenn would just have to get used to getting eyefulls or learn to fuckin’ knock!_ Daryl rubbed his eyes, just a bit miffed.

Rick sighed. “Glenn, what’s up?”

Glenn’s voice came outside the curtain. “There’s some people who wanna meet you both.”

“What?” Rick said, confused.

“Andrea’s outside the gate. Says Daryl invited her so here she is.”

“What?” Rick repeated, and turned to face Daryl.

Daryl ignored the question. “Anyone else there?”

“According to Merle, there’s Milton and Martinez, and some guy called Tyreese which Hershel says he knows. Wasn’t he the guy Daryl talked about?”

Daryl got it, and almost smiled. “I told Tyreese he oughta maybe go to Andrea. I said she knows where to find us if she wants to talk to us.”

Rick was still watching Daryl. “What’s your take on this Tyreese?”

Daryl gave a kind of a half-shrug. “He could’ve tried to double-cross me any number of times but didn’t. I don’t get a bad vibe from him.”

Rick kept looking at him, thinking. He nodded. “We’ll go with that.” He turned back to the doorway. “Glenn, let Andrea and Tyreese in and take them to cellblock D. We’ll talk there. The other two guys will have to stay outside for now. Me and Daryl will be there in a few.”

They heard Glenn walk away. Daryl sat up and run his fingers through his hair, over and over again.

“Didn’t think she’d come, though.”

“But it’s a good sign, right?” Rick’s voice, so hopeful.

“Andrea’s ok, I guess… Tyreese too. Don’t know about the two other guys but Merle knows them, we should get his opinion.” Daryl noticed his tone change to defensive. “Merle’s shit most of the time, don’t think I don’t know that. He ain’t stupid, though.”

“I know he isn’t. If everything goes well with Andrea and Tyreese, we’ll get Merle involved. At least as an advisor -- I’m still not convinced he can hold his mouth well enough to be there for negotiations.”

“But I can?” Daryl’s mouth twitched, amused.

“Yeah, well, don’t know about that--,” Rick got a well-aimed elbow in his side and chuckled. Serious again, he continued. “I just don’t give a shit. I ain’t negotiatin’ nothing without you there with me.”

Rick sat up, got up, and started collecting his clothes.

“Come on, get dressed. We’re building something new here.”

Daryl wasn’t sure if Rick was talking about the two of them, together, or whatever cooperation they’d negotiate with Woodbury.

He had a good feeling about both, however. He heard Li’l Asskicker gurgle in the cell nearby; he smelled coffee in the common area; there was Carol’s warm voice and Beth’s light step. 

He had a good feeling about this day.

  
  
  
  


*******************THE END*********************

  
  



End file.
